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The  Book  of  Restoration  Verse 


The 

Book  of  Restoration 

Verse 

Chosen  and  Edited  zvitk  Notes  by 
William  Stanley  Braithwaite 

Editor  of 
"The  Book  of  Georgian  Verse,"  etc. 


LONDON 

DUCKWORTH    AND    CO. 

3,  Henrietta  Street,  Covent  Garden 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORMA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


DEDICATED   TO 

WITH    ESTEEM   AND 

APPRECIATION    FOR   MANY 

KINDNESSES 


PREFACE 

Cr'HIS  anthology  covers  the  period  between  the  hooks  of 
-*•  Elizabethan  and  Georgian  verse  in  a  design  intended 
to  include  selections  to  represent  the  periods  of  British  poetry 
from  1557,  to  1910.  The  name  Restoration  may  not  be  ac- 
curately applied  in  designating  this  volume;  but  since  the  year, 
and  those  succeeding  to  1685,  when  the  restored  monarchy 
came  into  power  and  ruled,  gave  to  the  group  of  writers 
who  were  at  the  height  of  their  powers  under  the  influence 
of  Charles'  court,  a  definite  and  unusual  character,  it  may 
not  be  inappropriately  used  in  naming  a  volume  of  selec- 
tions from  the  poets  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

It  IS  hard  for  criticism  to  determine  ivhcn  the  Elizabethan 
influence  definitely  ceased.  Examples  of  its  dramatic  quality 
are  to  be  found  in  a  poet  tuho  wrote  so  long  afterivards  as  Bed- 
does:  and  of  its  best  lyrical  note  in  Mr.  Robert  Bridges,  a 
contemporary  poet;  hut  as  a  school  it  declined  on  the  border- 
lands of  what  historical  criticism,  taking  safe  refuge  from  the 
perils  of  spiritual  definitions,  term  ^Jacobean  and  'Caroline 
periods.  Necessarily  the  poets  of  the  two  schools  overlap 
in  the  anthology  preceding,  and  this  one.  Milton,  who 
was  not  included  in  the  Book  of  Elizabethan  Verse,  is  placed 
in  this,  since  he  was  not  so  much  as  criticism  maintains,  the 
Hast  great  Elizabethan  .  hut  the  'dawn  out  of  the  Elizabethan 
nightfall',  who  was  beginning  and  the  ending  of  the  Miltonic 
dignity.  Waller,  who  has  not  a  place  in  this  book,  but  is 
included  in  the  Elizabethan  volume,  is  there  the  product 
of  a  declining  epoch,  despite  the  fact  that  he  originated  a 
new  style   and   versification.     His   poetry   was   a   decaying 

xiii 


PREFACE 

substance  adorned  tn    newer  technical  robes  which   had  not 
the  power  to  keep  ti  alive — as  time  has  proved. 

From  the  decline  of  the  Italian  influence,  to  Gray  and 
Collins,  there  was  a  period  in  English  poetry  peculiar  in 
Its  characteristics,  and  interwoven  as  at  no  other  time  in 
England's  literary  history,  with  the  complexion  of  national 
affairs.  It  held  three  pre-eminent  figures — Milton,  Dryden, 
and  Pope.  It  comprises  the  Civil  Wars,  the  Commonwealth, 
the  Restoration,  the  Revolution  of  1688,  and  witnessed  the 
ancient  throne  of  Britain  occupied  by  a  foreign  prince.  Poets 
were  partisans  with  the  equal  fervour  of  politicians;  and 
though  the  climax  of  the  century  zvas  the  expression  of  the 
French  influence  ushered  into  English  literature  with  the 
Restoration,  the  note  of  individualism  was  lost  in  the  ascen- 
dency of  patronage  and  parties.  Without  Milton,  who  is 
beyond  comparison,  as  Shakespeare  was  before  him,  and 
Wordsiuorth,  Keats,  and  Tennyson  after  him,  the  develop- 
ment of  the  period  can  be  traced  from  Cowley  through  Dryden 
to  Pope,  who  carried  to  perfection  qualities  w'hich  the  author 
0/ MasFlecknoe  /ri'/  introduced  into  English  verse.  From 
Cow'lcy  to  Pope  is  the  direct  development  of  the  period  ivhich 
this  anthology  covers.  Contemporaneously,  were  many  poets 
who  possessed  qualities  that  were  higher  and  rarer,  but 
they  were  often  poets  by  chance  rather  than  by  dedicated 
intention.  The  period  is  not  so  barren  of  poetry  as  is  often 
supposed.  It  luas  not  a  great  epoch  to  be  sure,  but  one  which 
zvould  have  given  to  many  European  countries  the  distinc- 
tion of  being  a  poetic  people.  Rochester,  Sedley,  Stanley,  Sher- 
burne, and  Cotton  are  lyrists  of  no  mean  potuer,  and  if  in 
some  instances  the  man's  life  in  his  own  day  was  better 
known  for  his  dissolute  habits  than  for  his  verse,  fortunately 
by  judicious  selection,  it  is  only  the  latter  that  can  affect  us 
xiv 


PREFACE 

today.  But  the  period  was  not  ivhoUy  given  to  such  coarse 
compositions  as  the  character  of  the  times  suggests  to  general 
society.  Marvell  and  Vaughan,  it  is  true  wrote  under  the 
influence  of  Puritan  rule,  but  Traherne  and  Cary  showed 
that  the  spiritual  conscience  luas  not  dead,  though  forced 
into  obscurity. 

The  period  is  distinctive  also,  because  it  luas  the  first  to 
witness  female  authorship  to  a  degree  where  it  ivas  recognised 
by  the  general  public.  The  Duchess  of  Newcastle,  Kath- 
erine  Philips,  (the  'Matchless  Orinda'),  Anne,  Countess 
of  Winchilsea,  and  Aphra  Behn  have  this  distinction  in 
English  literature.  Aphra  Behn  being  the  first  English 
woman  to  make  authorship  a  profession. 

I  have  included  here  a  selection  of  the  popular  ballads. 
Many  of  these  ballads  were  first  circulated  as  broadsides 
during  the  seventeenth  century:  and  since  the  first  ballad 
collection  was  made  early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  it  seemed 
to  me  that,  in  a  scheme  such  as  I  have  followed  in  these 
series  of  anthologies  {see  Preface  to  The  Book  of  Georgian 
Verse),  they  could  not  be  inserted  in  any  better  place. 

I  wish  to  tender  my  thanks  and  obligation  to  Mr.  Bertram 
Dob  ell  for  the  kind  permission  to  use  specimens  of  Traherne' s 
poetry  from  The  Poetical  Works  of  Thomas  Traherne, 
1903,  printed  from  original  manuscripts,  of  which  he  was 
the  editor  and  publisher, 

W.  S.  B. 

Candlemas,  1 909. 


XV 


The  Book  of  Restoration  Verse 

Book  First 


The  Book  of 

Restoration  Verse 

/.  Song  On  May  Morning 

"\TOW  the  bright  morning  Star,  Dayes  harbinger, 
-'■  ^     Comes  dancing  from  the  East,  and  leads  with  her 
The  Flowery  May,  who  from  her  green  lap  throws 
The  yellow  Cowslip,  and  the  pale  Primrose. 

Hail  bounteous  May  that  dost  inspire 

Mirth  and  youth,  and  warm  desire. 

Woods  and  Groves,  are  of  thy  dressing, 

Hill  and  Dale,  doth  boast  thy  blessing. 
Thus  we  salute  thee  with  our  early  Song, 
And  welcom  thee,  and  wish  thee  long. 

/.  Milton 

2.  Hymn  :    To  Light 

I  ^^IRST  born  of  chaos,  who  so  fair  didst  come 
■*-        From  the  old  Negro's  darksome  womb! 

Which  when  it  saw  the  lovely  child. 
The  melancholy  mass  put  on  kind  looks  and  smil'd. 

3 


THE    BOOK   OF 

Thou  tide  of  glory  which  no  rest  dost  know, 

But  ever  ebb,  and  ever  flow; 

Thou  golden  shower  of  a  true  Jove, 
Who  does  in  thee  descend,  and  Heav'n  to  earth  make  Love! 


Hail  active  nature's  watchful  life  and  health! 

Her  joy,  her  ornament,  and  wealth! 

Hail  to  thy  husband  heat,  and  thee! 
Thou  the  world's  beauteous  bride,  the  lusty  bridegroom  he! 

Say  from  what  golden  quivers  of  the  sky, 

Do  all  thy  winged  arrows  fly  ? 

Swiftness  and  power  by  birth  are  thine: 
From  thy  great  sire  they  came,  thy  sire  the  word  divine. 

'Tis,  I  believe,  this  archery  to  show. 

That  so  much  cost  in  colours  thou, 

And  skill  in  painting  dost  bestow. 
Upon  thy  ancient  arms,  the  gaudy  heavenly  bow. 

Swift  as  light  thoughts  their  empty  career  run. 

Thy  race  is  finished,  when  begun. 

Let  a  post-angel  start  with  thee, 
And  thou  the  goal  of  earth  shalt  reach  as  soon  as  he: 

Thou  in  the  moon's  bright  chariot  proud  and  gay, 

Dost  thy  bright  wood  of  stars  survey; 

And  all  the  year  dost  with  thee  bring 
Of  thousand  flow'ry  lights  thine  own  nocturnal  spring. 
4 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thou  Scythian-like  dost  round  thy  lands  above 

The  sun's  gilt  tent  for  ever  move, 

And  still  as  thou  in  pomp  dost  go 
The  shining  pageants  of  the  world  attend  thy  shovir. 

Nor  amidst  all  these  triumphs  dost  thou  scorn 

The  humble  glovi^-worms  to  adorn, 

And  vi^ith  those  living  spangles  gild, 
(O  greatness  without  pride!)  the  bushes  of  the  field. 

Night,  and  her  ugly  subjects  thou  dost  fright, 

And  sleep,  the  lazy  owl  of  night; 

Asham'd  and  fearful  to  appear 
They  screen  their  horrid  shapes  with  the  black  hemisphere. 

With  them  there  hastes,  and  wildly  takes  the  alarm, 

Of  painted  dreams,  a  busy  swarm. 

At  the  first  opening  of  thine  eye. 
The  various  clusters  break,  the  antic  atoms  fly. 

The  guilty  serpents,  and  obscener  beasts 

Creep  conscious  to  their  secret  rests: 

Nature  to  thee  does  reverence  pay, 
111  omens,  and  ill  sights  removes  out  of  thy  way. 

At  thy  appearance,  grief  itself  is  said, 

To  shake  his  wings,  and  rouse  his  head. 
And  cloudy  care  has  often  took 

A  gentle  beamy  smile  reflected  from  thy  look. 

5 


THE    BOOK   OF 

At  thy  appearance,  fear  itself  grows  bold; 

Thy  sunshine  melts  away  his  cold. 

Encourag'd  at  the  sight  of  thee, 
To  the  cheek  colour  comes,  and  firmness  to  the  knee. 

Even  lust  the  master  of  a  hardened  face. 

Blushes  if  thou  beest  in  the  place. 

To  darkness'  curtains  he  retires, 
In  sympathising  night  he  rolls  his  smoky  fires. 

When,  Goddess,  thou  liftest  up  thy  wakened  head. 

Out  of  the  morning's  purple  bed. 

Thy  choir  of  birds  about  thee  play. 
And  all  the  joyful  world  salutes  the  rising  day. 

The  ghosts,  and  monster  spirits,  that  did  presume 

A  body's  priv'lege  to  assume. 

Vanish  again  invisibly, 
And  bodies  gain  agen  their  visibility. 

All  the  world's  bravery  that  delights  our  eyes 
Is  but  thy  sev'ral  liveries, 
Thou  the  rich  dye  on  them  bestow'st, 

Thy  nimble  pencil  paints  this  landscape  as  thou  go'st. 

A  crimson  garment  in  the  rose  thou  wear'st; 

A  crown  of  studded  gold  thou  bear'st. 

The  virgin  lilies  in  their  white. 
Are  clad  but  with  the  lawn  of  almost  naked  light. 
6 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  violet,  spring's  little  infant,  stands. 

Girt  in  thy  purple  swadling-bands: 

On  the  fair  tulip  thou  dost  dote; 
Thou  cloth'st  it  in  a  gay  and  party-colour'd  coat. 

With  flame  condensed  thou  dost  the  jewels  fix, 

And  solid  colours  in  it  mix: 

Flora  herself  envies  to  see 
Flowers  fairer  than  her  own,  and  durable  as  she. 

Ah,  Goddess!  would  thou  could'st  thy  hand  withhold. 

And  be  less  liberal  to  gold; 

Didst  thou  less  value  to  it  give. 
Of  how  much  care,  alas,  might'st  thou  poor  man  relieve! 

To  me  the  sun  is  more  delightful  far, 

And  all  fair  days  much  fairer  are. 

But  few,  ah  wondrous  few  there  be, 
Who  do  not  gold  prefer,  O  Goddess,  ev'n  to  thee. 

Through  the  soft  ways  of  heaven,  and  air,  and  sea. 

Which  open  all  their  pores  to  thee; 

Like  a  clear  river  thou  dost  glide. 
And  with  thy  living  stream  through  the  close  channels  slide. 

But  where  firm  bodies  thy  free  course  oppose, 

Gently  thy  source  the  land  o'erflows; 

Takes  there  possession,  and  does  make. 
Of  colours  mingled,  light,  a  thick  and  standing  lake. 

7 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  the  vast  ocean  of  unbounded  day 

In  th'  empyrean  heaven  does  stay. 

Thy  rivers,  lakes,  and  springs  below 
From  thence  took  first  their  rise,  thither  at  last  must  flow. 

A.  Cowley 

J.  On  A  Drop  of  Dew 

O  EE,  how  the  orient  dew, 
*^     Shed  from  the  bosom  of  the  morn 
Into  the  blowing  roses, 
(Yet  careless  of  its  mansion  new. 
For  the  clear  region  where  'twas  born,) 
Round  in  itself  incloses; 
And,  in  its  little  globe's  extent, 
Frames,  as  it  can,  its  native  element. 
How  it  the  purple  flower  does  slight, 

Scarce  touching  where  it  lies; 
But  gazing  back  upon  the  skies. 
Shines  with  a  mournful  light, 
Like  its  own  tear. 
Because  so  long  divided  from  the  sphere. 
Restless  it  rolls,  and  unsecure. 

Trembling,  lest  it  grow  impure; 
Till  the  warm  sun  pity  its  pain. 
And  to  the  skies  exhale  it  back  again. 

So  the  soul,  that  drop,  that  ray 
Of  the  clear  fountain  of  eternal  day, 
(Could  it  within  the  human  flower  be  seen,) 
Remembering  still  its  former  height, 
Shuns  the  sweet  leaves,  and  blossoms  green 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And,  recollecting  its  own  light, 
Does,  in  its  pure  and  circling  thoughts,  express 
The  greater  heaven  in  an  heaven  less. 
In  how  coy  a  figure  wound, 
Every  way  it  turns  away; 
So  the  world-excluding  round, 
Yet  receiving  in  the  day; 
Dark  beneath,  but  bright  above, 
Here  disdaining,  there  in  love. 
How  loose  and  easy  hence  to  go; 
How  girt  and  ready  to  ascend; 
Moving  but  on  a  pomt  below. 
It  all  about  does  upwards  bend. 
Such  did  the  manna's  sacred  dew  distil; 
White  and  entire,  though  congealed  and  chill; 
Congealed  on  earth;  but  does,  dissolving,  run 
Into  the  glories  of  the  almighty  sun. 

A.  Marvel! 


The  Swallow 

(Anacreontiques) 

"POOLISH  prater,  what  dost  thou 
^        So  early  at  my  window  do 
With  thy  tuneless  serenade  ? 
Well't  had  been  had  Tereus  made 
Thee  as  dumb  as  Philomel; 
There  his  knife  had  done  but  well. 
In  thy  undiscovered  nest 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thou  dost  all  the  winter  rest, 

And  dreamest  o'er  thy  summer  joys 

Free  from  the  stormy  seasons'  noise: 

Free  from  th'ill  thou'st  done  to  me: 

Who  disturbs,  or  seeks  out  thee  ? 

Hadst  thou  all  the  charming  notes 

Of  the  wood's  poetic  throats, 

All  thy  art  could  never  pay 

What  thou'st  ta'en  from  me  away; 

Cruel  bird,  thou'st  ta'en  away 

A  dream  out  of  my  arms  to-day, 

A  dream  that  ne'er  must  equal'd  be 

By  all  that  waking  eyes  may  see. 

Thou  this  damage  to  repair, 

Nothing  half  so  sweet  or  fair. 

Nothing  half  so  good  can'st  bring, 

Though  men  say,  thou  bring'st  the  Spring. 

A.  Cowley 

From  'Arcades' 


Song 

T    OOK  Nymphs,  and  Shepherds  look, 
-*-^     What  sudden  blaze  of  majesty 
Is  that  which  we  from  hence  descry 
Too  divine  to  be  mistook: 

This  this  is  she 
10 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

To  whom  our  vows  and  wishes  bend, 
Heer  our  solemn  search  hath  end. 

Fame  that  her  high  worth  to  raise, 
Seem'd  erst  so  lavish  and  profuse. 
We  may  justly  now  accuse 
Of  detraction  from  her  praise. 

Less  than  half  we  find  exprest, 

Envy  bid  conceal  the  rest. 

Mark  what  radiant  state  she  spreds, 
In  circle  round  her  shining  throne, 
Shooting  her  beams  like  silver  threds, 
This  this  is  she  alone. 

Sitting  like  a  Goddes  bright. 

In  the  center  of  her  light. 

Might  she  the  wise  Latona  be. 
Or  towred  Cyhele, 
Mother  of  a  hunderd  gods; 
Juno  dare's  not  give  her  odds; 

Who  had  thought  this  clime  had  held 

A  deity  so  unparalel'd  ? 


6.  Song 


O 


'ER  the  smooth  enameld  green 

Where  no  print  of  step  hath  been. 
Follow  me  as  I  sing, 

II 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  touch  the  warbled  string. 
Under  the  shady  roof 
Of  branching  Elm  Star-proof, 

Follow  me, 
I  will  bring  you  where  she  sits 
Clad  in  splendour  as  befits 

Her  diety. 
Such  a  rural  Queen 
All  Arcadia  hath  not  seen. 


Song 

l^TYMPHS  and  Shepherds  dance  no  more 
-'■  ^     By  sandy  Ladons  Lillied  banks. 
On  old  LyccEus  or  Cyllene  hoar. 

Trip  no  more  in  twilight  ranks. 
Though  Erymanth  your  loss  deplore, 

A  better  soyl  shall  give  ye  thanks. 
From  the  stony  Mcenalus, 
Bring  your  Flocks,  and  live  with  us, 
Here  ye  shall  have  greater  grace, 
To  serve  the  Lady  of  this  place. 

Though  Syrinx  your  Pans  Mistress  were, 

Yet  Syrinx  well  might  wait  on  her. 
Such  a  rural  Queen 

All  Arcadia  hath  not  seen. 

].  Milton 
12 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

8.  The  Merry  Beggars 

/'"^OME,  come;  away!     the  spring, 
^-^     By  every  bird  that  can  but  sing, 
Or  chirp  a  note,  doth  now  invite 
Us  forth  to  taste  of  his  dehght. 
In  field,  in  grove,  on  hill,  in  dale; 
But  above  all  the  nightingale. 
Who  in  her  sweetness  strives  t'  outdo 
The  loudness  of  the  hoarse  cuckoo. 

'Cuckoo,'  cries  he;  'jug,  jug,  jug,'  sings  she; 
From  bush  to  bush,  from  tree  to  tree: 
Why  in  one  place  then  tarry  we  ? 


Come  away!  why  do  we  stay  ? 
We  have  no  debt  or  rent  to  pay; 
No  bargains  or  accounts  to  make. 
Nor  land  or  lease  to  let  or  take: 
Or  if  we  had,  should  that  remore  us 
When  all  the  world's  our  own  before  us, 
And  where  we  pass  and  make  resort. 
It  is  our  kingdom  and  our  court. 

'Cutkoo,'  cries  he;  'jug,  jug,  jug,'  sings  she; 

From  bush  to  bush,  from  tree  to  tree: 

Why  in  one  place  then  tarry  we .'' 

R.  Bronte 


13 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  Garden 

T  TOW  vainly  men  themselves  amaze, 
■*-  -^     To  win  the  palm,  the  oak,  or  bays; 
And  their  incessant  labours  see 
Crowned  from  some  single  herb,  or  tree. 
Whose  short  and  narrow-verged  shade 
Does  prudently  their  toils  upbraid; 
While  all  the  flowers  and  trees  do  close. 
To  weave  the  garlands  of  repose! 

Fair  Quiet,  have  I  found  thee  here. 
And  Innocence,  thy  sister  dear  ? 
Mistaken  long,  I  sought  you  then 
In  busy  companies  of  men. 
Your  sacred  plants,  if  here  below, 
Only  among  the  plants  will  grow; 
Society  is  all  but  rude 
To  this  delicious  solitude. 

No  white  nor  red  was  ever  seen 
So  amorous  as  this  lovely  green. 
Fond  lovers,  cruel  as  their  flame. 
Cut  in  these  trees  their  mistress'  name: 
Little,  alas!  they  know  or  heed. 
How  far  these  beauties  her's  exceed! 
Fair  trees!  wheres'e'er  your  bark  I  wound, 
No  name  shall  but  your  own  be  found. 

When  we  have  run  our  passion's  heat. 
Love  hither  makes  his  best  retreat. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  gods,  that  mortal  beauty  chase, 
Still  in  a  tree  did  end  their  race; 
Apollo  hunted  Daphne  so, 
Only  that  she  might  laurel  grow; 
And  Pan  did  after  Syrinx  speed. 
Not  as  a  nymph,  but  for  a  reed. 

What  wondrous  life  is  this  I  lead! 
Ripe  apples  drop  about  my  head; 
The  luscious  clusters  of  the  vine 
Upon  my  mouth  do  crush  their  wine; 
The  nectarine,  and  curious  peach. 
Into  my  hands  themselves  do  reach; 
Stumbling  on  melons,  as  I  pass, 
Insnared  with  flowers,  I  fall  on  grass. 

Meanwhile  the  mind,  from  pleasure  less. 
Withdraws  into  its  happiness; 
The  mind,  that  ocean  where  each  kind 
Does  straight  its  own  resemblance  find; 
'Yet  it  creates,  transcending  these. 
Far  other  worlds,  and  other  seas. 
Annihilating  all  that's  made 
To  a  green  thought  in  a  green  shade. 

Here  at  the  fountain's  sliding  foot. 
Or  at  some  fruit-tree's  mossy  root. 
Casting  the  body's  vest  aside, 
My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  slide: 
There,  like  a  bird,  it  sits  and  sings, 

15 


IHE  BOOK  OF 

Then  whets  and  combs  its  silver  wings, 
And,  till  prepared  for  longer  flight. 
Waves  in  its  plumes  the  various  light. 

Such  was  that  happy  garden-state, 
While  man  there  walked  without  a  mate: 
After  a  place  so  pure  and  sweet, 
What  other  help  could  yet  be  meet! 
But  'twas  beyond  a  mortal's  share 
To  wander  solitary  there: 
Two  paradises  'twere  in  one; 
To  live  in  paradise  alone. 

How  well  the  skilful  gardener  drew 
Of  flowers,  and  herbs,  this  dial  new; 
Where,  from  above,  the  milder  sun 
Does  through  a  fragrant  zodiac  run. 
And,  as  it  works,  the  industrious  bee 
Computes  its  time  as  well  as  we! 
How  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 
Be  reckoned  but  with  herbs  and  flowers  .'' 

A.  Marvell 

TO.  The  Mower  Against  Gardens 

T    UXURIOUS  man,  to  bring  his  vice  in  use, 

■*-^     Did  after  him  the  word  seduce. 

And  from  the  fields  the  flowers  and  plants  allure, 

Where  Nature  was  most  plain  and  pure. 
He  first  inclosed  within  the  gardens  square 

A  dead  and  standing  pool  of  air, 
i6 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  a  more  luscious  earth  for  them  did  knead, 

Which  stupefied  them  while  it  fed. 
The  pink  grew  then  as  double  as  his  mind; 

The  nutriment  did  change  the  kind. 
With  strange  perfumes  he  did  the  roses  taint; 

And  flowers  themselves  were  taught  to  paint. 
The  tulip  white  did  for  complexion  seek, 

And  learned  to  interline  its  cheek; 
Its  onion  root  they  then  so  high  did  hold, 

That  one  was  for  a  meadow  sold: 
Another  world  was  searched  through  oceans  new. 

To  find  the  marvel  of  Peru; 
And  yet  these  rarities  might  be  allowed 

To  man,  that  sovereign  thing  and  proud. 
Had  he  not  dealt  between  the  bark  and  tree. 

Forbidden  mixtures  there  to  see. 
No  plant  now  knew  the  stock  from  which  it  came; 

He  grafts  upon  the  wild  the  tame, 
That  the  uncertain  and  adulterate  fruit 

Might  put  the  palate  in  dispute. 
His  green  seraglio  has  its  eunuchs  too, 

Lest  any  tyrant  him  outdo; 
And  in  the  cherry  he  does  Nature  vex, 

To  procreate  without  a  sex. 
'Tis  all  enforced,  the  fountain  and  the  grot. 

While  the  sweet  fields  do  lie  forgot, 
Where  willing  Nature  does  to  all  dispense 

A  wild  and  fragrant  innocence; 
And  fauns  and  fairies  do  the  meadows  till 

More  by  their  presence  than  their  skill. 
Their  statues  polished  by  some  ancient  hand. 

May  to  adorn  the  gardens  stand; 

17 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But,  howsoe'er  the  figures  do  excel, 

The  Gods  themselves  with  us  do  dwell. 

A.  Marvell 


II.      The  Picture  of  Little   T.   C.  in  a 
Prospect  of  Flowers 


S 


^EE  with  what  simplicity 

This  nymph  begins  her  golden  days! 
In  the  green  grass  she  loves  to  lie, 
And  there  with  her  fair  aspect  tames 
The  wilder  flowers  and  gives  them  names, 
But  only  with  the  roses  plays 
And  them  does  tell 
What  colour  best  becomes  them  and  what  smell. 


Who  can  foretell  for  what  high  cause 
This  darling  of  the  Gods  was  born  ? 
Yet  this  is  she  whose  chaster  laws 
The  wanton  Love  shall  one  day  fear, 
And,  under  her  command  severe, 
See  his  bow  broke,  and  ensigns  torn. 
Happy  who  can 
Appease  this  virtuous  enemy  of  man! 

O  then  let  me  in  time  compound 
And  parley  with  those  conquering  eyes, 
Ere  they  have  tried  their  force  to  wound; 
Ere  with  their  glancing  wheels  they  drive 
i8 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

In  triumph  over  hearts  that  strive, 

And  them  that  yield  but  more  despise: 

Let  me  be  laid 

Where  I  may  see  the  glories  from  some  shade. 

Meantime,  whilst  every  verdant  thing 
Itself  does  at  thy  beauty  charm, 
Reform  the  errors  of  the  spring; 
Make  that  the  tulips  may  have  share 
Of  sweetness,  seeing  they  are  fair; 
And  roses  of  their  thorns  disarm; 
But  most  procure 
That  violets  may  a  longer  age  endure. 

But  O,  young  beauty  of  the  woods, 
Whom  Nature  courts  with  fruit  and  flowers. 
Gather  the  flowers,  but  spare  the  buds. 
Lest  Flora,  angry  at  thy  crime 
To  kill  her  infants  in  their  prime. 
Do  quickly  make  the  example  yours; 
And  ere  we  see, 
Nip  in  the  blossom,  all  our  hopes  and  thee. 

A.   Marvell 


12.  The  Pastime  of  the  Queen   of  Fairies 

QUEEN  Mab  and  all  her  Fairy  fry. 
Dance  on  a  pleasant  molehill  high: 
With  fine  straw  pipes  sweet  music's  pleasure, 
They  make  and  keep  just  time  and  measure. 

19 


THE  BOOK  OF 

All  hand  in  hand,  around,  around, 
They  dance  upon  the  Fairy  ground. 
And  when  she  leaves  her  dancing-hall 
She  doth  for  her  attendants  call, 
To  wait  upon  her  to  a  bower, 
Where  she  doth  sit  beneath  a  flower. 
To  shade  her  from  the  moonshine  bright; 
And  gnats  do  sing  for  her  delight. 
The  whilst  the  bat  doth  fly  about 
To  keep  in  order  all  the  rout. 
She  on  a  dewy  leaf  doth  bathe. 
And  as  she  sits  the  leaf  doth  wave: 
Like  a  new  fallen  flake  of  snow 
All  her  white  limbs  in  beauty  show. 
Her  garments  fair  her  maids  put  on, 
Made  of  the  pure  light  from  the  sun, 
From  whence  such  colours  she  inshades 
In  every  object  she  invades. 
Then  to  her  dinner  she  goes  straight, 
Where  all  her  imps  in  order  wait. 
Upon  a  mushroom  there  is  spread 
A  cover  fine  of  spiders  web; 
And  for  her  stool  a  thistle-down; 
And  for  her  cup  an  acorn's  crown. 
Wherein  strong  nectar  there  is  filled, 
That  from  sweet  flower  is  distilled. 
Flies  of  all  sorts  both  fat  and  good, 
For  snipe,  quail,  partridge  are  her  food. 
Omelettes  made  of  ant  eggs  new — 
Of  such  high  meats  she  eats  but  few. 
Her  milk  is  from  the  dormouse  udder. 
Which  makes  her  cheese  and  cream  and  butter: 
20 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

This  they  do  mix  in  many  a  knack, 
And  fresh  laid  ants'  eggs  therein  crack: — 
Both  pudding,  custard  and  seed-cake, 
Her  skilled  cook  well  knov^^s  how  to  bake. 
To  sweeten  them  the  bee  doth  bring 
Pure  honey  gathered  by  her  sting: 
But  for  her  guard  serves  grosser  meat — 
They  of  the  stall-fed  dormouse  eat. 
When  dined  she  calls,  to  take  the  air, 
Her  coach  which  is  a  nutshell  fair; 
Lined  soft  it  is  and  rich  within. 
Made  of  a  glistening  adders  skin, 
And  there  six  crickets  draw  her  fast. 
When  she  a  journey  takes  in  haste: 
Or  else  two  serve  to  pace  a  round. 
And  trample  on  the  Fairy  ground. 
To  hawk  sometimes  she  takes  delight, 
Her  bird  a  hornet  swift  for  flight. 
Whose  horns  do  serve  for  talons  strong, 
To  gripe  the  partridge-fly  among. 
But  if  she  will  a  hunting  go, 
The  lizard  answers  for  a  doe; 
It  is  so  swift  and  fleet  in  chase. 
That  her  slow  coach  cannot  keep  pace; 
Then  on  the  grasshopper  she'll  ride 
And  gallop  in  the  forest  wide. 
Her  bow  is  of  a  willow  branch. 
To  shoot  the  lizard  on  the  haunch: 
Her  arrow  sharp,  much  like  a  blade, 
Of  a  rosemary  leaf  is  made. 
Then  home  she's  summoned  by  the  cock, 
Who  gives  her  warning  what's  o'clock, 


21 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  when  the  moon  doth  hide  her  head, 
Her  day  is  done,  she  goes  to  bed. 
Meteors  do  serve,  when  they  are  bright, 
As  torches  do,  to  give  her  Hght, 
Glow-worms  for  candles  are  lit  up, 
Set  on  the  table  while  she  sup. 
But  women,  the  inconstant  kind, 
Ne'er  in  one  place  content  their  mind. 
She  calls  her  chariot  and  away 
To  upper  earth — impatient  of  long  stay. 

The  stately  palace  in  which  the  Queen  dwells 

Is  a  fabric  built  of  hodmandod  shells: 

The  hangings  thereof  a  rainbow  that's  thin, 

Which  shew  wondrous  fine  as  you  enter  in; 

The  chambers  are  made  of  amber  that's  clear 

Which  gives  a  sweet  smell  when  fire  is  near: 

Her  bed  is  a  cherry-stone  carved  throughout 

And  with  a  bright  butterfly's  wing  hung  about: 

Her  sheets  are  made  of  dove's  eyes  skin — 

Her  pillow's  a  violet  bud  laid  therein: 

The  doors  of  her  chamber  are  transparent  glass. 

Where  the  Queen  may  be  seen  as  within  she  doth  pass. 

The  doors  are  locked  fast  with  silver  pins; 

The  Queen  is  asleep  and  now  man's  day  begins. 

M.  Cavendish,  Duchess  oj  Neivcastle 

/J.  The  Fountain 

OTRANGER,  whoe'er  thou  art,  that  stoop'st  to  taste 
*^     These  sweeter  streams,  let  me  arrest  thy  haste; 
Nor  of  their  fall 
22 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  murmurs  (though  the  lyre 
Less  sweet  be)  stand  to  admire. 

But  as  you  shall 
See  from  this  marble  tun 
The  liquid  crystal  run, 

And  mark  withal 
How  fixed  the  one  abides, 
How  fast  the  other  glides; 
Instructed  thus,  the  difference  learn  to  see 
Twixt  mortal  life  ^nd  immortality. 

Sir  E.  Sherburne 


i^.  To   the  NightiugaJe 

r^  NIGHTINGALE,  that  on  yon  bloomy  Spray 
^-^       Warbl'st  at  eeve,  when  all  the  Woods  are  still, 

Thou  with   fresh  hope  the  Lovers  heart  dost  fill. 
While  the  jolly  hours  lead  on  proptious  May, 
Thy  liquid  notes  that  close  the  eye  of  Day, 

First  heard  before  the  shallow  Cuccoo's  bill 

Portend  success  in  love;  O  if  Jove's  will 
Have  linkt  that  amorous  power  to  thy  soft  lay. 
Now  timely  sing,  ere  the  rude  Bird  of  Hate 

Foretell  my  hopeles  doom  in  som  Grove  ny: 
As  thou  from  yeer  to  yeer  hast  sung  too  late 

For  my  relief;  yet  hadst  no  reason  why, 
Whether  the  Muse,  or  Love  call  thee  his  mate, 

Both  them  I  serve,  and  of  their  train  am  I. 

/.  Milton 
23 


THE  BOOK  OF 

I  i^.     The  Nymph  Complaining  For  the 
Death  of  Her  Faiun 

THE  wanton  troopers  riding  by 
Have  shot  my  fawn,  and  it  will  die. 
Ungentle  men!  they  cannot  thrive 
Who  killed  thee.     Thou  ne'er  didst  alive 
Them  any  harm,  alas!  nor  could 
Thy  death  yet  do  them  any  good. 
I'm  sure  I  never  wished  them  ill; 
Nor  do  I  for  all  this,  nor  will: 
But,  if  my  simple  prayers  may  yet 
Prevail  with  Heaven  to  forget 
Thy  murder,  I  will  join  my  tears, 
Rather  than  fail.     But,  O  my  fears! 
It  cannot  die  so.     Heaven's  king 
Keeps  register  of  everything. 
And  nothing  may  we  use  in  vain; 
Even  beasts  must  be  with  justice  slain; 
Else  men  are  made  their  deodands. 
Though  they  should  wash  their  guilty  hands 
In  this  warm  life-blood  which  doth  part 
From  thine,  and  wound  me  to  the  heart, 
Yet  could  they  not  be  clean;  their  stain 
Is  dyed  in  such  a  purple  grain. 
There  is  not  such  another  in 
The  world,  to  offer  for  their  sin. 

Unconstant  Sylvio,  when  yet 
I  had  not  found  him  counterfeit, 
One  morning  (I  remember  well), 
Tied  in  this  silver  chain  and  bell, 

24 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Gave  it  to  me:  nay,  and  I  know 
What  he  said  then,  I'm  sure  I  do: 
Said  he,  'Look  how  your  huntsman  here 
Hath  taught  a  fawn  to  hunt  his  deer.' 
But  Sylvio  soon  had  me  beguiled; 
This  waxed  tame,  while  he  grew  wild, 
And  quite  regardless  of  my  smart, 
Left  me  his  fawn,  but  took  his  heart. 
Thenceforth  I  set  myself  to  play 
My  solitary  time  away 
With  this;  and,  very  well  content. 
Could  so  mine  idle  life  have  spent; 
For  it  was  full  of  sport,  and  light 
Of  foot  and  heart,  and  did  invite 
Me  to  its  game:  it  seemed  to  bless 
Itself  in  me;  how  could  I  less 
Than  love  it  ?     O,  I  cannot  be 
Unkind  to  a  beast  that  loveth  me. 

Had  it  lived  long,  I  do  not  know 
Whether  it  too  might  have  done  so 
As  Sylvio  did;  his  gifts  might  be 
Perhaps  as  false,  or  more,  than  he; 
But  I  am  sure,  for  aught  that  I 
Could  in  so  short  a  time  espy, 
Thy  love  was  far  more  better  then 
The  love  of  false  and  cruel  men. 

With  sweetest  milk  and  sugar  first 
I  it  at  my  own  fingers  nursed; 
And  as  it  grew,  so  every  day 
It  waxed  more  white  and  sweet  than  they. 
It  had  so  sweet  a  breath!     And  oft 
I  blushed  to  see  its  foot  more  soft 

25 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  white,  shall  I  say  than  my  hand  ? 
Nay,  any  lady's  of  the  land. 

It  is  a  wondrous  thing  how  fleet 
'Twas  on  those  little  silver  feet; 
With  what  a  pretty  skipping  grace 
It  would  oft  challenge  me  the  race; 
And,  when  't  had  left  me  far  away, 
'Twould  stay,  and  run  again,  and  stay; 
For  it  was  nimbler  much  than  hinds. 
And  trod  as  if  on  the  four  winds. 

I  have  a  garden  of  my  own, 
But  so  with  roses  overgrown, 
And  lilies,  that  you  would  it  guess 
To  be  a  little  wilderness; 
And  all  the  spring-time  of  the  year 
It  only  loved  to  be  there. 
Among  the  beds  of  lilies  I 
Have  sought  it  oft,  where  it  should  lie, 
Yet  could  not,  till  itself  would  rise, 
Find  it,  although  before  mine  eyes; 
For,  in  the  flaxen  lilies'  shade. 
It  like  a  bank  of  lilies  laid. 
Upon  the  roses  it  would  feed. 
Until  its  lips  e'en  seem  to  bleed 
And  then  to  me  'twould  boldly  trip, 
And  print  there  roses  on  my  lip. 
But  all  its  chief  delight  was  still 
On  roses  thus  itself  to  fill. 
And  its  pure  virgin  limbs  to  fold 
In  whitest  sheets  of  lilies  cold; 
Had  it  lived  long,  it  would  have  been 
Lilies  without,  roses  within. 
26 


RESTORATION   VERSE 

0  help!    O  help!     I  see  it  faint 
And  die  as  calmly  as  a  saint! 

See  how  it  weeps!  the  tears  do  come 
Sad,  slowly,  dropping  like  a  gum. 
So  weeps  the  wounded  balsam;  so 
The  holy  frankincense  doth  flow; 
The  brotherless  Heliades 
Melt  in  such  amber  tears  as  these. 

1  in  golden  vial  will 

Keep  these  two  crystal  tears,  and  fill, 
It  till  it  do  o'erflow  with  mine, 
Then  place  it  in  Diana's  shrine. 

Now  my  sweet  faun  is  vanished  to 
Whither  the  swans  and  turtles  go; 
In  fair  Elysium  to  endure. 
With  milk-like  lambs,  and  ermines  pure. 
O  do  not  run  too  fast:  for  I 
Will  but  bespeak  thy  grave,  and  die. 

First,  my  unhappy  statue  shall 
Be  cut  in  marble;  and  withal. 
Let  it  be  weeping  too;  but  there 
The  engraver  sure  his  art  may  spare; 
For  I  so  truly  thee  bemoan. 
That  I  shall  weep,  though  I  be  stone, 
Until  my  tears,  still  dropping,  wear 
My  breast,  themselves  engraving  there; 
There  at  my  feet  shalt  thou  be  laid. 
Of  purest  alabaster  made; 
For  I  would  have  thine  image  be 
White  as  I  can,  though  not  as  thee. 

A.  Marvell 


27 


THE  BOOK  OF 

1 6.  What  is  Love 

''T^IS  a  child  of  phansies  getting, 

-*-       Brought  up  between  Hope  and  Fear; 
Fed  with  smiles,  grown  by  uniting 

Strong,  and  so  kept  by  Desire. 
'Tis  a  perpetual  vestal  fire 

Never  dying, 
Whose  smoke  like  incense  doth  aspire. 

Upwards  flying. 

It  is  a  soft  magnetic  stone. 

Attracting  hearts  by  sympathy, 
Binding  up  close  two  souls  in  one. 

Both  discoursing  secretly. 
'Tis  the  true  Gordian  knot  that  ties 

Yet  ne'er  unbinds. 
Fixing  thus  two  lovers'  eyes 
As  well  as  minds. 

'Tis  the  sphere's  heavenly  harmony 
When  two  skilful  hands  do  strike; 
And  every  sound  expressively 

Marries  sweetly  with  the  like: 
'Tis  the  world's  everlasting  chain 

That  all  things  tied. 
And  bid  them  like  the  fixed  wain 
Unmoved  to  bide. 

'Tis  Nature's  law  inviolate. 
Confirmed  by  mutual  consent 
28 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Where  two  dislike,  like,  love,  and  hate, 

Each  to  the  other's  full  content: 
'Tis  the  caress  of  every  thing; 

The  turtle-dove; 
Both  birds  and  beasts  do  offering  bring 

To  Mighty  Love. 

'Tis  th'  angels'  joy:  the  gods'  delight,  man's   bliss, 
'Tis  all  in  all:  without  Love  nothing  is. 

R.  Heath 


//.  The  Definition   of  Love 

"|\  /r  Y  love  is  of  a  birth  as  rare 
-^' -*■     As  'tis,  for  object,  strange  and  high; 
It  was  begotten  by  Despair, 
Upon  Impossibility. 

Magnanimous  Despair  alone 

Could  show  me  so  divine  a  thing. 

Where  feeble  hope  could  ne'er  have  flown, 
But  vainly  flapped  its  tinsel  wing. 

And  yet  I  quickly  might  arrive 
Where  my  extended  soul  is  fixed; 

But  Fate  does  iron  wedges  drive. 
And  always  crowds  itself  betwixt. 

For  Fate  with  jealous  eye  does  see 

Two  perfect  loves,  nor  lets  them  close; 

29 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Their  union  would  her  ruin  be, 
And  her  tyrannic  power  depose, 

And  therefore  her  decrees  of  steel 

Us  as  the  distant  poles  have  placed, 
(Though  Love's  whole  world  on  us  doth  wheel), 

Not  by  themselves  to  be  embraced, 

Unless  the  giddy  heaven  fall. 

And  earth  some  new  convulsion  tear. 

And,  us  to  join,  the  world  shoyld  all 
Be  cramped  into  a  planisphere. 

As  lines,  so  love's  oblique,  may  well 

Themselves  in  every  angle  greet: 
But  ours,  so  truly  parallel. 

Though  infinite,  can  never  meet. 

Therefore  the  love  which  us  doth  bind, 

But  Fate  so  enviously  debars, 
Is  the  conjunction  of  the  mind, 

And  opposition  of  the  stars. 

J.  Mar  veil 


Love  in   Thy   Youth 

T    OVE  in  thy  youth,  fair  maid;  be  wise 
^-^     Old  Time  will  make  thee  colder. 
And  though  each  morning  new  arise 
Yet  we  each  day  grow  older. 

30 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thou  as  heaven  art  fair  and  young, 

Thine  eyes  hke  twin  stars  shining: 
But  ere  another  day  be  sprung, 

All  these  will  be  declining; 
Then  winter  comes  with  all  his  fears, 

And  all  thy  sweets  shall  borrow; 
Too  late  then  wilt  thou  shower  thy  tears, 

And  I  too  late  shall  sorrow. 


W.  Porter 


ig.  Expectation 

/'~^HIDE,  chide  no  more  away 
^-^     The  fleeting  daughters  of  the  day. 
Nor  with  impatient  thoughts  outrun 
The  lazy  sun, 
,   Nor  think  the  hours  do  move  too  slow; 
Delay  is  kind, 
And  we  too  soon  shall  find 
That  which  we  seek,  yet  fear  to  know. 

The  mystic  dark  decrees 
Unfold  not  of  the  Destinies, 
Nor  boldly  seek  to  antedate 

The  laws  of  Fate; 
Thy  anxious  search  awhile  forbear. 
Suppress  thy  haste, 
And  know  that  Time  at  last 
Will  crown  thy  hope,  or  fix  thy  fear. 

T.  Stanley 
31 


THE  BOOK  OF 
20.  Young  Love 

/"^^OME,  little  infant,  love  me  now, 
^ —     While  thine  unsuspected  years 
Clear  thine  aged  father's  brow 
From  cold  jealousy  and  fears. 

Pretty  surely  'twere  to  see 

By  young  Love  old  Time  beguiled, 

While  our  sportings  are  as  free 
As  the  nurse's  with  the  child. 

Common  beauties  stay  fifteen; 

Such  as  yours  should  swifter  move, 
Whose  fair  blossoms  are  too  green 

Yet  for  lust,  but  not  for  love. 

Love  as  much  the  snowy  lamb, 
Or  the  wanton  kid,  does  prize. 

As  the  lusty  bull  or  ram. 
For  his  morning  sacrifice. 

Now  then  love  me:  Time  may  take 
Thee  before  thy  time  away; 

Of  this  need  we'll  virtue  make, 
And  learn  love  before  we  may. 

So  we  win  of  doubtful  Fate, 
And,  if  good  she  to  us  meant, 

We  that  good  shall  antedate, 
Or,  if  ill,  that  ill  prevent. 

32 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thus  as  kingdoms,  frustrating 

Other  titles  to  their  crown, 
In  the  cradle  crown  their  king. 

So  all  foreign  claims  to  drown; 

So  to  make  all  rivals  vain, 

Now  I  crown  thee  with  my  love: 
Crown  me  with  thy  love  again, 

And  we  both  shall  monarchs  prove. 

A.  Marvell 


21.  The  Spring 

''  1  "HOUGH  you  be  absent  here,  I  needs  must  say 
-*-       The  trees  as  beauteous  are,  and  flowers  as  gay, 

As  ever  they  were  wont  to  be; 

Nay  the  birds'  rural  music  too 

Is  as  melodious  and  free. 

As  if  they  sung  to  pleasure  you: 
I  saw  a  rose-bud  ope  this  morn;  I'll  swear 
The  blushing  morning  open'd  not  more  fair. 

How  could  it  be  so  fair,  and  you  away  ? 

How  could  the  trees  be  beauteous,  flowers  so  gay  ? 
Could  they  remember  but  last  year, 
How  you  did  them,  they  you  delight, 
The  sprouting  leaves  which  saw  you  here, 
And  called  their  fellows  to  the  sight. 

Would,  looking  round  for  the  same  sight  in  vain, 

Creep  back  into  their  silent  barks  again. 

33 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Where'er  you  walk'd  trees  were  as  reverend  made, 
As  when  of  old  gods  dwelt  in  every  shade. 

Is't  possible  they  should  not  know, 

What  loss  of  honour  they  sustain. 

That  thus  they  smile  and  flourish  now, 

And  still  their  former  pride  retain  ? 
Dull  creatures!     'tis  not  without  cause  that  she, 
Who  fled  the  god  of  wit,  was  made  a  tree. 

In  ancient  times  sure  they  much  wiser  were. 
When  they  rejoic'd  the  Thracian  verse  to  hear; 

In  vain  did  nature  bid  them  stay. 

When  Orpheus  had  his  song  begun. 

They  call'd  their  wondering  roots  away. 

And  bade  them  silent  to  him  run. 
How  would  those  learned  trees  have  followed  you  ? 
You  would  have  drawn  them,  and  their  poet  too. 

But  who  can  blame  them  now  ?  for,  since  you're  gone. 
They're  here  the  only  fair,  and  shine  alone. 

You  did  their  natural  rights  invade; 

Where  ever  you  did  walk  or  sit, 

The  thickest  boughs  could  mak«e  no  shade. 

Although  the  Sun  had  granted  it: 
The  fairest  flowers  could  please  no  more,  near  you. 
Then  painted  flowers,  set  next  to  them,  could  do. 

When  e'er  then  you  come  hither,  that  shall  be 
The  time,  which  this  to  others  is,  to  me. 

The  little  joys  which  here  are  now, 

The  name  of  punishments  do  bear; 
34 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

When  by  their  sight  'chey  let  us  know 

How  we  depriv'd  of  greater  are. 
'Tis  you  the  best  of  seasons  with  you  bring; 
This  is  for  beasts,  and  that  for  men  the  Spring. 

A.  Cowley 

2.     We  Must  Not  Part  as   Others  Do 

"\  ^TE  must  not  part,  as  others  do, 

*  *       With  sighs  and  tears,  as  we  were  two, 
Though  with  these  outward  forms,  we  part; 
We  keep  each  other  in  our  heart. 
What  search  hath  found  a  being,  where 
I  am  not,  if  that  thou  be  there  .^ 

True  love  hath  wings,  and  can  as  soon 
Survey  the  world,  as  sun  and  moon; 
And  everywhere  our  triumphs  keep 
Over  absence,  which  makes  others  weep: 
By  which  alone  a  power  is  given 
To  live  on  earth,  as  they  in  heaven. 


Am 


The  Magnet 

A  SK  the  empress  of  the  night 
■^   ^      How  the  Hand  which  guides  her  sphere. 
Constant  in  unconstant  light, 

Taught  the  waves  her  yoke  to  bear. 
And  did  thus  by  loving  force 
Curb  or  tame  the  rude  sea's  course. 

35 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Ask  the  female  palm  how  she 

First  did  woo  her  husband's  love; 

And  the  magnet,  ask  how  he 
Doth  th'  obsequious  iron  move; 

Waters,  plants,  and  stones  know  this: 

That  they  love:  not  what  Love  is. 

Be  not  thou  less  kind  than  these, 
Or  from  Love  exempt  alone! 

Let  us  twine  like  amorous  trees, 
And  like  rivers  melt  in  one. 

Or,  if  thou  more  cruel  prove, 

Learn  of  steel  and  stones  to  love. 


T .  Stanley 


2^.  The  Surprise 

'T'^HERE'S  no  dallying  with  love 

-*■  Though  he  be  a  child  and  blind; 

Then  let  none  the  danger  prove. 

Who  would  to  himself  be  kind: 
Smile  he  does  when  thou  dost  play, 
But  his  smiles  to  death  betray. 

Lately  with  the  Boy  I  sported; 

Love  I  did  not,  yet  love  feigned; 
Had  not  mistress,  vet  I  courted; 

Sigh  I  did,  yet  was  not  pained; 
Till  at  last  this  love  in  jest. 
Proved  in  earnest  my  unrest. 
36 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

When  I  saw  my  fair  one  first, 

In  a  feigned  fire  I  burned; 
But  true  flames  my  poor  heart  pierced, 

When  her  eyes  on  mine  she  turned: 
So  a  real  wound  I  took, 
For  my  counterfeited  look. 


Slighted  Love,  his  skill  to  show. 
Struck  me  with  a  mortal  dart; 

Then  I  learnt  that  'gainst  his  bow. 
Vain  are  the  weak  helps  of  art; 

And  thus  captiv'd,  found  that  true 

Doth  dissembled  love  pursue. 


'Cause  his  fetters  I  disclaimed. 
Now  the  tyrant  faster  bound  me; 

With  more  scorching  brands  inflamed, 
'Cause  in  love  so  cold  he  found  me: 

And  my  sighs  more  scalding  made, 

'Cause  with  winds  before  they  played. 


None  who  loves  not,  then  make  shew. 

Love's  as  ill  deceived  as  Fate; 
Fly  the  Boy,  he'll  cog  and  woo; 

Mock  him,  and  he  wounds  thee  straight. 
Ah!  who  dally,  boast  in  vain; 
False  love  wants  not  real  pain. 

Sir  E.  Sherburne 
37 


THE  BOOK  OF 

25.  Husbandry 

A  ^  THEN  I  began  my  Love  to  sow, 

^  *        Because  with  Venus'  doves  I  plow'd, 
Fool  that  I  was,  I  did  not  know 

That  frowns  for  furrows  were  allow'd. 


The  broken  heart  to  make  clods  torn 
By  the  sharp  arrows  of  Disdain, 

Crumbled  by  pressing  rolls  of  Scorn, 
Gives  issue  to  the  springing  grain. 


Coyness  shuts  Love  into  a  stove; 

No  frost-bound  lands  their  own  heat  feed: 
Neglect  sits  brooding  upon  Love, 

As  pregnant  snow  on  winter-seed. 


The  harvest  is  not  till  we  two 
Shall  into  one  contracted  be; 

Love's  crop  alone  doth  richer  grow, 
Decreasing  to  identity. 


All  other  things  not  nourish'd  are 

But  by  Assimilation: 
Love,  in  himself  and  diet  spare. 

Grows  fat  by  Contradiction. 


fF.Hc 


38 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

26.  The  Fair  Singer 

'  I  ""O  make  a  final  conquest  of  all  me, 

-■-        Love  did  compose  so  sweet  an  enemy, 
In  whom  both  beauties  to  my  death  agree. 
Joining  themselves  in  fatal  harmony, 
That,  while  she  with  her  eyes  my  heart  does  bind, 
She  with  her  voice  might  captivate  my  mind. 

I  could  have  fled  from  one  but  singly  fair; 
My  disentangled  soul  itself  might  save. 
Breaking  the  curled  trammels  of  her  hair; 
But  how  should  I  avoid  to  be  her  slave, 
Whose  subtle  art  invisibly  can  wreathe 
My  fetters  of  the  very  air  I  breathe  ? 

It  had  been  easy  fighting  in  some  plain. 
Where  victory  might  hang  in  equal  choice, 
But  all  resistence  against  her  is  vain. 
Who  has  the  advantage  both  of  eyes  and  voice; 
And  all  my  forces  needs  must  be  undone, 
She  having  gained  both  the  wind  and  sun. 

A.  Marvell 


27.  To    The  Lady  May 

\/OUR  smiles  are  not,  as  other  women's  be, 

^        Only  the  drawing  of  the  mouth  awry; 
For  breasts  and  cheeks  and  forehead  we  may  see, 
Parts  wanting  motion,  all  stand  smihng  by: 

39 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Heaven  hath  no  mouth,  and  yet  is  said  to  smile 

After  your  style: 
No  more  hath  earth,  yet  that  smiles  too, 

Just  as  you  do. 

No  siriipering  lips  nor  looks  can  breed 
Such  smiles  as  from  your  face  proceed: 
The  sun  must  lend  his  golden  beams, 

Soft  winds  their  breath,  green  trees  their  shade, 
Sweet  fields  their  flowers,  clear  springs  their  streams, 

Ere  such  another  smile  be  made: 
But  these  concurring,  we  may  say 
'So  smiles  the  spring  and  so  smiles  lovely  May.' 

A.  Towns  end 


28.  To  His   Coy  Mistress 

T  TAD  we  but  world  enough,  and  time, 
-■-  -*-     This  coyness,  lady,  were  no  crime. 
We  would  sit  down,  and  think  which  way 
To  walk,  and  pass  our  long  love's  day. 
Thou  by  the  Indian  Ganges'  side 
Shouldst  rubies  find:     I  by  the  tide 
Of  Humber  would  complain.     I  would 
Love  you  ten  years  before  the  flood. 
And  you  should,  if  you  please,  refuse 
Till  the  conversion  of  the  Jews; 
My  vegetable  love  should  grow 
Vaster  than  empires  and  more  slow; 
40 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

An  hundred  years  should  go  to  praise 
Thine  eyes,  and  on  thy  forehead  gaze; 
Two  hundred  to  adore  each  breast, 
But  thirty  thousand  to  the  rest; 
An  age  at  least  to  every  part, 
And  the  last  age  should  show  your  heart. 
For,  lady,  you  deserve  this  state, 
Nor  would  I  love  at  lower  rate. 

But  at  my  back  I  always  hear 
Time's  winged  chariot  hurrying  near. 
And  yonder  all  before  us  lie 
Deserts  of  vast  eternity. 
Thy  beauty  shall  no  more  be  found. 
Nor,  in  thy  marble  vault,  shall  sound 
My  echoing  song;  then  worms  shall  try 
That  long-preserved  virginity. 
And  your  quaint  honour  turn  to  dust. 
And  into  ashes  all  my  lust: 
The  grave's  a  fine  and  private  place, 
But  none,  I  think,  do  there  embrace. 

Now  therefore,  while  the  youthful  hue 
Sits  on  thy  skin  like  morning  dew, 
And  while  thy  willing  soul  transpires 
At  every  pore  with  instant  fires. 
Now  let  us  sport  us  while  we  may. 
And  now,  like  amorous  birds  of  prey. 
Rather  at  once  our  time  devour. 
Than  languish  in  his  slow-chapt  power. 
Let  us  roll  all  our  strength  and  all 
Our  sweetness  up  into  one  ball. 
And  tear  our  pleasures  with  rough  strife. 
Thorough  the  iron  gates  of  life; 

41 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thus,  though  we  cannot  make  our  sun 
Stand  still,  yet  we  will  make  him  run. 

J.  Marvell 


2g.  See' St  Not,  My  Love,   JVith 

What  a  Grace 

O  EE'ST  not,  my  love,  with  what  a  grace 

*^     The  Spring  resembles  thy  sweet  face  ? 

Here  let  us  sit,  and  in  these  bowers 

Receive  the  odours  of  the  flowers. 

For  Flora,  by  thy  beauty  woo'd,  conspires  thy  good. 

See  how  she  sends  her  fragrant  sweet. 

And  doth  this  homage  to  thy  feet. 

Bending  so  low  her  stooping  head 

To  kiss  the  ground  where  thou  dost  tread, 

And  all  her  flowers  proudly  meet,  to  kiss  thy  feet. 

Then  let  us  walk,  my  dearest  love. 

And  on  this  carpet  strictly  prove 

Each  other's  vow;  from  thy  request 

No  other  love  invades  my  breast. 

For  how  can  I  contemn  that  fire  which  Gods  admire .'' 

To  crop  that  rose  why  dost  thou  seek, 
When  there's  a  purer  in  thy  cheek  ? 
Like  coral  held  in  thy  fair  hands. 
Or  blood  and  milk  that  mingled  stands: 
To  whom  the  Powers   and   grace   have   given,   a   type   of 
Heaven. 
42 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Yon  lily  stooping  t'wards  this  place, 

Is  a  pale  shadow  tor  thy  face, 

Under  which  veil  doth  seem  to  rush 

Modest  Endymion's  ruddy  blush. 

A  blush,  indeed,  more  pure  and  fair  than  lilies  are. 

Cilance  on  those  flowers  thy  radiant  eyes, 

Through  which  clear  beams  they'll  sympathise 

Reflective  love,  to  make  them  far 

More  glorious  than  th'  Hesperian  star. 

For  every  swain  amazed  lies,  and  gazing  dies. 

See  how  these  silly  flowers  twine. 

With  sweet  embracings,  and  combine, 

Striving  with  curious  looms  to  set 

Their  pale  and  red  into  a  net, 

To  show  how  pure  desire  doth  rest  for  ever  blest. 

Why  wilt  thou  then  unconstant  be  ? 

T'  infringe  the  laws  of  amity. 

And  so  much  disrespect  my  heart 

To  derogate  from  what  thou  art } 

When  in  harmonious  love  there  is  Elysian  bliss. 

fV.  Bosu'orth 


30.  Song 

/^~^OME,  come,  thou  glorious  object  of  my  sight, 
^-^     O  my  joy,  my  life,  my  own  delight! 

May  this  glad  minute  be 

Blessed  to  eternity! 

43 


THE  BOOK  OF 

See  how  the  glimmering  tapers  of  the  sky 

Do  gaze,  and  wonder  at  our  constancy, 
How  they  crowd  to  behold 
What  our  arms  do  unfold! 

How  do  all  envy  our  felicities, 

And  grudge  the  triumphs  of  Selindra's  eyes! 
How  Cynthia  seeks  to  shroud 
Her  crescent  in  yon  cloud! 

Where  sad  night  puts  her  sable  mantle  on, 

Thy  light  mistaking,  hasteth  to  be  gone. 
Her  gloomy  shades  give  way. 
As  at  the  approach  of  day; 

And  all  the  planets  shrink,  in  doubt  to  be 

Eclipsed  by  a  brighter  deity. 


Look,  O  Look! 

How  the  small 

Lights  do  fall. 

And  adore 

What  before 
The  heavens  have  not  shown. 
Nor  their  godheads  known! 


Such  a  faith. 
Such  a  love 
As  may  move 
From  above 
To  descend,  and  remain 
Amongst  mortals  again. 

Sir  W.  Killigrew 
44 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Ji.  Mounting  Hyperboles 

O  KIN  more  pure  than  Ida's  snow, 
*^     Whiter  far  than  Moorish  milk, 
Sweeter  than  ambrosia  too, 
Softer  than  the  Paphian  silk, 
Indian  plumes  or  thistle-down, 
Or  May-blossoms  newly  blown. 
Is  my  mistress  rosy-pale, 
Adding  beauty  to  her  veil. 

R.  Brathwaiii' 

S2.  No  More   Unto  My    Thoughts  Appear 

"\TO  MORE  unto  my  thoughts  appear, 
"^  ^      At  least  appear  less  fair. 
For  crazy  tempers  justly  fear 
The  goodness  of  the  air. 

Whilst  your  pure  image  hath  a  place 

In  my  impurer  mind, 
Your  very  shadow  is  the  glass 

Where  my  defects  I  find. 

Shall  I  not  fly  that  brighter  light 

Which  makes  my  fires  look  pale. 
And  put  that  virtue  out  of  sight 

Which  makes  mine  none  at  all  ? 


No,  no,  your  picture  doth  impart 
Such  value,  I  not  wish 


45 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  native  worth  to  any  heart 
That's  unadorned  with  this. 

Though  poorer  in  desert  I  make 

Myself,  whilst  I  admire, 
The  fuel  which  from  Hope  I  take 

I  give  to  my  Desire. 

If  this  flame  lighted  from,  your  eyes 

The  subject  do  calcine, 
A  heart  may  be  your  sacrifice 

Too  weak  to  be  your  shrine. 


S.  Godolphin 


5 J.  David's  Song 


A  WAKE,  awake  my  Lyre, 
-^   *■  And  tell  thy  silent  master's  humble  tale, 
In  sounds  that  may  prevail; 
Sounds  that  gentle  thoughts  inspire, 
Though  so  exalted  she 
And  I  so  lowly  be. 
Tell  her  such  different  notes  make  all  thy  harmony. 

Hark,  how  the  strings  awake. 
And  though  the  moving  hand  approach  not  near. 
Themselves  with  awful  fear, 
A  kind  of  numerous  trembling  make. 
Now  all  thy  forces  try. 
Now  all  thy  charms  apply. 
Revenge  upon  her  ear  the  conquests  of  her  eye. 
46 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Weak  Lyre!  thy  virtue  sure 
Is  useless  here,  since  thou  art  only  found 

To  cure,  but  not  to  wound, 
And  she  to  wound,  but  not  to  cure. 

Too  weak  too  wilt  thou  prove 

My  passion  to  remove, 
Physic  to  other  ills,  thou'rt  nourishment  to  Love. 


Sleep,  sleep  again  my  Lyre; 
For  thou  can'st  never  tell  my  humble  tale, 
In  sounds  that  will  prevail, 
Nor  gentle  thoughts  in  her  inspire; 
All  thy  vain  mirth  lay  by. 
Bid  thy  strings  silent  lie, 
Sleep,  sleep  again,  my  Lyre,  and  let  thy  Master  die. 

A.  Cowley 


j^.  CeVia,  Sleeping  or  Singing 

T3  OSES,  in  breathing  forth  their  scent, 
-■-^     Or  stars  their  borrowed  ornament; 
Nymphs  in  the  watery  sphere  that  move, 
Or  angels  in  their  orbs  above; 
The  winged  chariot  of  the  light. 
Or  the  slow  silent  wheels  of  night; 
The  shade  which  from  the  swifter  sun 
Doth  in  a  circular  motion  run. 
Or  souls  that  their  eternal  rest  do  keep, 
Make  far  more  noise  than  Celia's  breath  in  sleep. 

47. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  if  the  angel  which  inspires 

This  subtle  frame  with  active  fires, 

Should  mould  this  breath  to  words,  and  those 

Into  harmony  dispose. 

The  music  of  this  heavenly  sphere 

Would  steal  each  soul  out  at  the  ear, 

And  into  plants  and  stones  infuse 

A  life  that  cherubin  would  choose. 

And  with  new  powers  invert  the  laws  of  fate: 

Kill  those  that  live,  and  dead  things  animate. 

T.  Stanley 

55.  To  His  Mistress 


W 


"HAT  a  dull  fool  was  I, 
To  think  so  gross  a  lie, 
As  that  I  ever  was  in  love  before! 

I  have,  perhaps,  known  one  or  two 
With  whom  I  was  content  to  be 
At  that,  which  they  call  'keeping  company.' 
But,  after  all  that  they  could  do, 
I  still  could  be  with  more. 
Their  absence  never  made  me  shed  a  tear; 
And  I  can  truly  swear. 
That,  till  my  eyes  first  gazed  on  you, 
I  ne'er  beheld  that  thing  I  could  adore. 

A  world  of  things  must  curiously  be  sought, 
A  world  ot  things  must  be  together  brought. 
To  make  up  charms  which  have  the  power  to  move. 
Through  a  discerning  eye,  true  love. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

That  is  a  masterpiece,  above 
What  only  looks  and  shape  can  do; 
There  must  be  wit,  and  judgment  too; 
Greatness  of  thought,  and  worth,  which  draw 
From  the  whole  world,  respect  and  awe. 

She  that  would  raise  a  noble  love,  must  find 
Ways  to  beget  a  passion  for  her  mind, 
She  must  be  that,  which  she,  to  be  would  seem; 
For  all  true  love  is  grounded  on  esteem. 
Plainness  and  truth  gain  more  a  generous  heart 
Than  all  the  crooked  subtleties  of  art. 

She  must  be  (what  said  I  ?),  She  must  be  you. 

None  but  yourself  that  miracle  can  do; 
At  least,  I'm  sure,  thus  much  I  plainly  see. 
None  but  yourself  e'er  did  it  upon  me. 
'Tis  you  alone,  that  can  my  heart  subdue — 

To  you  alone,  it  always  shall  be  true! 

G.  ViUtcrs,  Duke  oj  Buckingham 


^6.  Phil  lis  Inamorata 

/'"^OME,  be  my  valentine! 
^-^     ril  gather  eglantine. 
Cowslips  and  sops-in-wine, 

With  fragrant  roses. 
Down  by  thy  Phillis  sit, 
She  will  white  lilies  get, 
And  daffadilies  fit 

To  make  thee  posies. 

49 


THE  BOOK  OF 

I  have  a  milk-white  lamb, 
New-taken  from  the  dam, 
It  comes  where'er  I  am 

When  I  call  'Willy:' 
I  have  a  wanton  kid 
Under  my  apron  hid, 
A  colt  that  ne'er  was  rid, 

A  pretty  filly. 

I  bear  in  sign  of  love 
A  sparrow  in  my  glove. 
And  in  my  breast  a  dove. 

This  shall  all  be  thine: 
Besides  of  sheep  a  flock, 
Which  yieldeth  many  a  lock, 
And  this  shall  be  thy  stock: 

Come  be  my  valentine! 

Dr.  L.  Andrewes 


57-        The  Mower  to   the  Glow-worms 

'\7"E.  living  lamps,  by  whose  dear  light 

-*-        The  nightingale  does  sit  so  late. 
And  studying  all  the  summer  night. 
Her  matchless  song  does  meditate; 

Ye  country  comets,  that  portend 
No  war  nor  prince's  funeral. 
Shining  unto  no  higher  end 
Than  to  presage  the  grass's  fall; 
5° 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Ye  glow-worms,  whose  officious  flame 
To  wandering  mowers  shows  the  way, 
That  in  the  night  have  lost  their  aim, 
And  after  fooHsh  fires  do  stray; 

Your  courteous  Hghts  in  vain  you  waste. 
Since  Juliana  here  is  come. 
For  she  my  mind  hath  so  displaced. 
That  I  shall  never  find  my  home. 


A.  Marvell 


T 


A  Mock  Song 

IS  true  I  never  was  in  love; 

But  now  I  mean  to  be, 
For  there's  no  art 
Can  shield  a  heart 
From  love's  supremacy. 

Though  in  my  nonage  I  have  seen 

A  world  of  taking  faces, 
I  had  not  age  or  wit  to  ken 

Their  several  hidden  graces. 

Those  virtues  which,  though  thinly  set, 

In  others  are  admired, 
In  thee  are  altogether  met, 

Which  make  thee  so  desired; 

51 


THE  BOOK  OF 

That  though  I  never  was  in  love, 
Nor  never  meant  to  be, 
Thyself  and  parts 
Above  my  arts 
Have  drawn  my  heart  to  thee. 


A.  Br 


^g.  The  Kiss 

"\  ^  THEN  on  thy  lip  my  soul  I  breathe, 
*  *  Which  there  meets  thine. 

Freed  from  their  fetters  by  this  death, 

Our  subtle  forms  combine: 
Thus  without  bonds  of  sense  they  move. 
And  like  two  cherubim  converse  by  love. 

Spirits  to  chains  of  earth  confin'd 

Discourse  by  sense; 
But  ours,  that  are  by  flames  refin'd. 

With  those  weak  ties  dispense. 
Let  such  in  words  their  minds  display: 
We  in  a  kiss  our  mutual  thoue;hts  convey. 

But  since  my  soul  from  me  doth  fly, 

To  thee  retir'd, 
Thou  canst  not  both  retain;  for  I 

Must  be  with  one  inspir'd; 
Then,  Dearest,  either  justly  mine 
Restore,  or  in  exchange  let  me  have  thine. 
52 


RESIORATION  VERSE 

Yet  if  thou  dost  return  mine  own, 

O  tak't  again! 
For  'tis  this  pleasing  death  alone 

Gives  ease  unto  my  pain. 
Kill  me  once  more,  or  I  shall  find 
Thy  pity  than  thy  cruelty  less  kind. 


7  .  Stanley 


^o.  Weeping  and  Kissing 

\     KISS  I  begged,  but  smiling,  she 
■^  *■  Denied  it  me; 

When  straight,  her  cheeks  with  tears  o'erflown — 

Now  kinder  grown — 
What  smiling  she'd  not  let  me  have 

She  weeping  gave. 
Then  you  whom  scornful  beauties  awe, 

Hope  yet  rehef 
From  Love,  who  tears  from  smiles  can  draw. 

Pleasure  from  grief. 

Sir  E.  Sherburne 


41.  The  Mower's  Song 

1\  /TY  mind  was  once  the  true  survey 

^^ *-     Of  all  these  meadows  fresh  and  gay, 

And  in  the  greenness  of  the  grass 

Did  see  its  hopes  as  in  a  glass; 

When  Juliana  came,  and  she, 

What  I  do  to  the  grass,  does  to  my  thoughts  and  me. 

53 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  these,  while  I  with  sorrow  pine, 

Grew  more  luxuriant  still  and  fine. 

That  not  one  blade  of  grass  you  spied, 

But  had  a  flower  on  either  side; 

When  Juliana  came,  and  she. 

What  I  do  to  the  grass,  does  to  my  thoughts  and  me. 


Unthankful  meadows,  could  you  so 

A  fellowship  so  true  forego. 

And  in  your  gaudy  May-games  meet. 

While  I  lay  trodden  under  feet  ? 

When  Juliana  came,  and  she. 

What  I  do  to  the  grass,  does  to  my  thoughts  and  me. 


But  what  you  in  compassion  ought. 

Shall  now  by  my  revenge  be  wrought; 

And  flowers,  and  grass,  and  I,  and  all, 

Will  in  one  common  ruin  fall; 

For  Juliana  comes,  and  she, 

What  I  do  to  the  grass,  does  to  my  thoughts  and  me. 


And  thus,  ye  meadows,  which  have  been 
Companions  of  my  thoughts  more  green. 
Shall  now  the  heraldry  become 
With  which  I  shall  adorn  my  tomb; 
For  Juliana  came,  and  she, 

What  I  do  to  the  grass,  does  to  my  thoughts  and  me. 

A.  Marvel! 
54 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

^2.  The  Chronicle 

A  Ballad 

A /r  ARGARITA  first  possest, 

IVX      jf  J  remember  well,  my  breast, 

Margarita  first  of  all; 
But  when  a  while  the  wanton  Maid 
With  my  restless  Heart  had  played, 

Martha  took  the  flying  Ball. 

Martha  soon  did  it  resign 
To  the  beauteous  Catharine. 
Beauteous  Catharine  gave  place 
(Though  loth  and  angry  she  to  part 
With  the  possession  of  my  Heart) 
To  Elisa's  conquering  face. 

Elisa  till  this  hour  might  reign 
Had  she  not  evil  counsels  ta'ne. 
Fundamental  laws  she  broke, 
And  still  new  favourites  she  chose. 
Till  up  in  arms  my  Passions  rose, 
And  cast  away  her  yoke. 

Mary  then  and  gentle  Ann 
Boih  to  reign  at  once  began. 
Alternately  they  sv/ay'd, 
And  sometimes  Mary  was  the  Fair, 
And  sometimes  Ann  the  Crown  did  wear, 
And  sometimes  both  F  obeyed. 

55 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Another  Mary  then  arose 

And  did  rigorous  laws  impose. 
A  mighty  Tyrant  she! 
Long,  alas,  should  I  have  been 
Under  that  iron-scepter'd  Queen, 
Had  not  Rebecca  set  me  free. 

When  fair  Rebecca  set  me  free, 

'Twas  then  a  golden  Time  with  me. 
But  soon  those  pleasures  fled. 
For  the  gracious  Princess  died 
In  her  Youth  and  Beauties'  pride, 
And  Judith  reigned  in  her  stead. 

One  month,  three  days,  and  half  an  hour 
Judith  held  the  sovereign  power. 
Wondrous  beautiful  her  face, 

But  so  weak  and  small  her  wit, 

That  she  to  govern  was  unfit. 
And  so  Susanna  took  her  place. 

But  when  Isabella  came 

Arm'd  with  a  resistless  flame 
And  th'  artillery  of  her  eye; 

Whilst  'she  proudly  marcht  about 

Greater  conquests  to  find  out, 
She  beat  out  Susan  by  the  By. 

But  in  her  place  I  then  obey'd 

Black-ey'd   Besse,  her  Viceroy-Maid, 
1  o  whom  ensu'd  a  vacancy. 
56 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thousand  worse  Passions  then  possest 
The  interregnum  of  my  breast. 
Bless  me  from  such  an  anarchy! 

Gentle  Henriette  than 

And  a  third  Mary  next  began, 
Then  Jone,  and  Jane,  and  Audria. 

And  then  a  pretty  Thomasine, 

And  then  another  Katharine, 
And  then  a  long  Et  caetera. 

But  should  I  now  to  you  relate, 

The  strength  and  riches  of  their  state, 
The  Powder,  Patches,  and  the  Pins, 
The  Ribbans,  Jewels,  and  the  Rings, 
The  Lace,  the  Paint,  and  warlike  things 
That  make  up  all  their  Magazins: 

If  I  should  tell  the  politic  arts 
To  take  and  keep  men's  hearts. 
The  Letters,  Embassies,  and  Spies, 
The  Frowns,  and  Smiles,  and  Flatteries, 
The  Quarrels,  Tears,  and  Perjuries, 
Numberless,  Nameless  Mysteries! 

And  all  the  little  lime-twigs  laid 
By  Matchavil  the  waiting-maid; 
I  more  voluminous  should  grow 
(Chiefly  if  I  like  them  should  tell 
All  change  of  weathers  that  befell) 
Then  Holinshead  or  Stow. 


57 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  I  will  briefer  with  them  be, 

Since  few  of  them  were  long  with  Me. 
An  higher  and  a  nobler  strain 

My  present  Emperess  does  claim, 

Heleonora,  First  o'  th'  Name; 
Whom  God  grant  long  to  reign! 

A.  Cowley 


^j.  Fiiscara,   or  the  Bee  Errant 

"VTATURE'S  confectioner,  the  bee, 
•^  ^       (Whose  suckets  are  moist  alchemy. 
The  still  of  his  refining  mold 
Minting  the  garden  into  gold,) 
Having  rifled  all  the  fields 
Of  what  dainty  Flora  yields, 
Ambitious  now  to  take  exercise 
Ot  a  more  fragrant  paradise, 
At  my  Fuscara's  sleeve  arrived 
Where  all  delicious  sweets  are  hived. 
The  airy  freebooter  distrains 
First  on  the  violet  of  her  veins, 
Whose  tincture,  could  it  be  more  pure, 
His  ravenous  kiss  has  made  it  bluer. 
Here  did  he  sit  and  essence  quaff 
Till  her  cov  pulse  had  beat  him  off; 
That  pulse  which  he  that  feels  may  know 
Whether  the  world's  long  lived  or  no. 
The  next  he  preys  on  is  her  palm, 
That  almoner  of  transpiring  balm; 
58 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

So  soft,  'tis  air  but  once  removed; 

Tender  as  'twere  a  jelly  gloved. 

Here,  while  his  canting  drone-pipe  scanned 

The  mystic  figures  of  her  hand, 

He  tipples  palmistry  and  dines 

On  all  her  fortune-telling  lines. 

He  bathes  in  bliss  and  finds  no  odds 

Betwixt  her  nectar  and  the  gods. 

He  perches  now  upon  her  wrist, 

A  proper  hawk  for  such  a  fist. 

Making  that  flesh  his  bill  of  fare 

Which  hungry  cannibals  would  spare; 

Where  lilies  in  a  lovely  brown 

Inoculate  carnation. 

Her  argent  skin  with  or  so  streamed 

As  if  the  milky  way  were  creamed. 

From  hence  he  to  the  woodbine  bends 

That  quivers  at  her  finger's  ends, 

That  runs  division  on  the  tree 

Like  a  thick-branching  pedigree. 

So  'tis  not  her  the  bee  devours. 

It  is  a  pretty  maze  of  flowers; 

It  is  the  rose  that  bleeds,  when  he 

Nibbles  his  nice  phlebotomy. 

About  her  finger  he  doth  cling 

In  the  fashion  of  a  wedding-ring, 

And  bids  his  comrades  of  the  swarm 

Crawl  like  a  bracelet  'bout  her  arm. 

Thus  when  the  hovering  publican 

Had  sucked  the  toll  of  all  her  span, 

Tuning  his  draughts  with  drowsy  hums 

As  Danes  carouse  by  kettle-drums, 

59 


THE  BOOK  OF 

It  was  decreed,  that  poesie  gleaned-, 

The  small  familiar  should  be  weaned. 

At  this  the  errant's  courage  quails; 

Yet  aided  by  his  native  sails 

The  bold  Columbus  still  designs 

To  find  her  undiscovered  mines. 

To  the  Indies  of  her  arm  he  flies, 

Fraught  with  east  and  western  prize; 

Which  when  he  had  in  vain  essayed, 

Armed  like  a  dapper  lancepesade 

With  Spanish  pike,  he  broached  a  pore 

And  so  both  made  and  healed  the  sore: 

For  as  in  gummy  trees  is  found 

A  salve  to  issue  at  the  wound. 

Of  this,  her  breach,  the  like  was  true; 

Hence  trickled  out  a  balsam,  too. 

But  oh,  what  wasp  was  it  that  could  prove 

Ravaillac  to  my  Queen  of  Love! 

The  king  of  bees,  now  jealous  grown 

Lest  her  beams  should  melt  his  throne, 

And  finding  that  his  tribute  slacks, 

(His  burgesses  and  state  of  wax 

Turned  to  a  hospital,  the  combs 

Built  rank  and  file  like  beadsmen's  rooms. 

And  what  they  bleed  but  tart  and  sour 

Matched  with  my  Danae's  golden  shower. 

Live  honey  all,  the  envious  elf 

Stung  her  'cause  sweeter  than  himself. 

Sweetness  and  she  are  so  allied 

The  bee  committed  parricide. 

] .  Cleveland 


60 


RKSTORATION  VERSE 

Greedy  Lover  Pause  Awhile 

f~~^  REEDY  lover,  pause  awhile, 
^-*      And  remember  that  a  smile 

Heretofore 
Would  have  made  thy  hopes  a  feast; 

Which  is  more 
Since  thy  diet  was  increased. 
Than  both  looks  and  language  too, 
Or  the  face  itself,  can  do. 


Such  a  province  is  my  hand 
As,  if  it  thou  couldst  command 

Heretofore, 
There  thy  lips  would  seem  to  dwell; 

Which  is  more. 
Ever  since  they  sped  so  well, 
Than  they  can  be  brought  to  do 
By  my  neck  and  bosom  too. 


If  the  centre  of  my  breast, 
A  dominion  unpossessed 

Heretofore, 
May  thy  wandering  thoughts  suffice, 

Seek  no  more. 
And  my  heart  shall  be  thy  prize: 
So  thou  keep  above  the  line, 
All  the  hemisphere  is  thine. 


6i 


THE  BOOK  OF 

It  the  flames  of  love  were  pure 
Which  by  oath  thou  didst  assure 

Heretofore, 
Gold  that  goes  into  the  clear 

Shines  the  more 
When  it  leaves  again  the  fire: 
Let  not  then  those  looks  of  thine 
Blemish  what  they  should  refine. 

I  have  cast  into  the  fire 
Almost  all  thou  couldst  desire 

Heretofore; 
But  I  see  thou  art  to  crave 

More  and  more. 
Should  I  cast  in  all  I  have, 
So  that  I  were  ne'er  so  free, 
Thou  wouldst  burn,  though  not  for  me. 

Dr.  J .   Wilson 


^5.     To  Julia   to   Expedite  Her  Promise 

SINCE  'tis  my  doom,  Love's  undershrieve, 
Why  this  reprieve  \ 
Why  doth  she  my  advowson  fly 
Incumbency  .? 
Panting  expectance  makes  us  prove 
The  antics  of  benighted  love, 
And  withered  mates  when  wedlock  joins, 
They're  Hymen's  monkeys,  which  he  ties  by  the  loins 
To  play  alas!  but  at  rebated  foins. 
62 


RESrORATION  VERSE 

To  sell  thyself  dost  thou  intend 

By  candle's  end, 
And  hold  the  contract  thus  in  doubt 

Lite's  taper  out  ? 
Think  but  how  soon  the  market  fails; 
Your  sex  Hves  faster  than  the  males; 
As  if,  to  measure  age's  span. 
The  sober  Julian  were  the  account  of  man 
Whilst  you  live  by  the  fleet  Gregorian. 

Now  since  you  bear  a  date  so  short, 

Live  double  for  it. 
How  can  thy  fortress  ever  stand 

If  it  be  not  manned  ? 
The  seige  so  gains  upon  the  place 
Thou'lt  find  the  trenches  in  thy  face. 
Pity  thyself  then  if  not  me, 
And  hold  not  out,  lest  like  Ostend  thou  be, 
Nothing  but  rubbish  at  delivery. 

The  candidates  of  Peter's  chair 

Must  plead  grey  hair, 

And  use  the  simony  of  a  cough 

To  help  them  off. 

But  when  I  woo  thus  old  and  spent 

I'll  wed  by  will  and  testament. 

No,  let  us  love  while  crisped  and  curled; 

The  greatest  honours,  on  the  aged  hurled, 

Are  but  furlows  for  another  world. 

Tomorrow  what  thou  tenderest  me 
Is  legacy. 

63 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Not  one  ot  all  those  ravenous  hours 
But  thee  devours. 
And  though  thou  still  requited  be, 
Like  Pelops,  with  soft  ivory, 
Though  thou  consume  but  to  renew, 
Yet  Love  as  lord  doth  claim  a  Heriot  due; 
That's  the  best  quick  thing  I  can  find  of  you. 

I  feel  thou  art  consenting  ripe 

By  that  soft  gripe, 
And  those  regealing  crystal  spheres. 

I  hold  thy  tears 
Pledges  of  more  distilling  sweets 
Than  the  bath  that  ushers  in  the  sheets. 
Else  pious  Julia,  angel-wise. 
Moves  the  Bethesda  of  her  trickling  eyes 
To  cure  the  spittle  world  of  maladies. 

/.   Cleveland 


/f6.       Upon  Black  Eyes  and  Becoming 
Frowns 

T)LACK  eyes!  in  your  dark  orbs  do  lie 

-'-^      My  ill,  or  happy,  destiny; 

If  with  clear  looks  you  me  behold, 

You  give  me  mines  and  mounts  of  gold; 

If  you  dart  forth  disdainful  rays. 

To  your  own  dye  you  turn  my  days. 

Black  eyes,  in  your  dark  orbs,  by  changes  dwell, 
My  bane  or  blisS;  my  paradise  or  hell. 
64 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

That  lamp,  which  all  the  stars  doth  blind, 
Yields  to  your  lustre,  in  some  kind; 
Though  you  do  wear,   to  make  you  bright, 
No  other  dress  but  that  of  night; 
He  glitters  only  in  the  day; 
You,  in  the  dark,  your  beams  display. 

Black  eyes,  in  your  dark  orbs,  etc. 

The  cunning  thief  that  lurks  for  prize. 
At  some  dark  corner  watching  lies: 
So  that  heart-robbing  god  doth  stand 
In  your  black  lobbies,  shaft  in  hand, 
To  rifle  me  of  what  I  hold 
More  precious  far  than  Indian  gold. 

Black  eyes,  in  your  dark  orbs,  etc. 

O  powerful  negromantic  eyes! 
Who  in  your  circles  strictly  pries, 
Will  find  that  Cupid  with  his  dart. 
In  youth  doth  practise  the  black  art; 
And,  by  those  spells  I  am  possest, 
Tries  his  conclusions  in  my  breast. 

Black  eyes,  in  your  dark  orbs,  etc. 

Look  on  me,  though  in  frowning  wise; 
Some  kinds  of  frowns  become  Black  Eyes; 
As  pointed  diamonds,  being  set, 
Cast  greater  lustre  out  of  jet .'' 
Those  pieces  we  esteem  most  rare, 
Which  in  night-shadows  postured  are; 
Darkness  in  churches  congregates  the  sight; 
Devotion  strays  in  glaring  light. 

65 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Black  eyes,  in  your  dark  orbs,  by  changes  dwell, 
My  bane  or  bliss,  my  paradise  or  hell. 

J.  Howell 

/fj.       When  on  Mine  Eyes  Her  Eyes 
First  Shone 

"1  ^7"HEN  on  mine  eyes  her  eyes  first  shone, 
*  •  I  all  amazed 

Steadily  gazed, 
And  she  to  make  me  more  amazed, 
So  caught,  so  wove,  four  eyes  in  one 
As  who  had  with  advisement  seen  us 
Would  have  admired  love's  equal  force  between  us. 

But  treason  in  those  friend-like  eyes. 
My  heart  first  charming 
And  then  disarming, 
So  maimed  it,  e'er  it  dreamed  of  harming, 
As  at  her  mercy  now  it  lies, 
And  shews  me,  to  my  endless  smart, 
She  loved  but  with  her  eyes,  I  with  my  heart. 

Dr.  ].   Wilson 

/f8.  To   Cynthia 

On  Concealment  of  Her  Beauty 

T^O  not  conceal  thy  radiant  eyes, 
*-^     The  star-light  of  serenest  skies, 
Lest  wanting  of  their  heavenly  light, 
They  turn  to  chaos'  endless  night. 
66 


RESTORATK)N  VERSE 

Do  not  conceal  those  tresses  fair, 
The  silken  snares  of  thy  curl'd  hair, 
Lest  finding  neither  gold,  nor  ore. 
The  curious  silkworm  work  no  more. 

Do  not  conceal  those  breasts  of  thine. 
More  snow-white,  than  the  Apennine, 
Lest  if  there  be  like  cold  or  frost, 
The  lily  be  forever  lost. 

Do  not  conceal  that  fragrant  scent. 
Thy  breath,  which  to  all  flowers  hath  lent 
Perfumes,  lest  it  being  supprest, 
No  spices  grow  in  all  the  East. 

Do  not  conceal  thy  heavenly  voice, 
Which  makes  the  hearts  of  gods  rejoice, 
Lest  Music  hearing  no  such  thing, 
The  Nightingale  forget  to  sing. 

Do  not  conceal,  nor  yet  eclipse 
Thy  pearly  teeth  with  coral  lips. 
Lest  that  the  seas  cease  to  bring  forth 
Gems,  which  from  thee  have  all  their  worth. 

Do  not  conceal  no  beauty-grace. 
That's  either  in  thy  mind  or  face, 
Lest  virtue  overcome  by  vice. 
Make  men  believe  no  Paradise. 


Str  F.  Kynaston 
67 


THE  BOOK  OF 

/fg.  Novo  Inamoramento 

\  ND  yet  anew  entangled,  see 
'^^-     Him  who  escaped  the  snare  so  late! 
A  truce,  no  league,  thou  mad'st  with  me. 

False  love,  which  now  is  out  of  date: 
Fool,  to  believe  the  fire  quite  out,  alas, 
Which  only  laid  asleep  in  embers  was. 


The  sickness  not  at  first  past  cure, 

By  this  relapse  despiseth  art. 
Now,  treacherous  boy,  thou  hast  me  sure, 

Playing  the  wanton  with  my  heart. 
As  foolish  children  that  a  bird  have  got 
Slacken  the  thread,  but  not  untie  the  knot. 

Sir  E.  Sherburne 


50.  Mercury   Complaining 

Mercury 
T  1  7"HAT  makes  me  so  unnimbly  rise, 

*  ^  That  did  descend  so  fleet  ? 

There  is  no  uphill  in  the  skies. 
Clouds  stay  not  feathered  feet 


Chorus 
Thy  wings  are  singed,  and  thou  canst  fly 
But  slowly  now,  swift  Mercury. 


68 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Mercury 
Some  lady  here  is  sure  to  blame, 

That  from  Love's  starry  skies 
Hath  shot  some  beam  or  sent  some  flame 

Like  lightning  from  her  eyes. 

Chorus 
Tax  not  the  stars  with  what  the  sun, 
Too  near  approached,  incensed,  hath  done. 

Mercury 
I'll  roll  me  in  Aurora's  dew 

Or  lie  in  Tethys'  bed, 
Or  from  cool  Iris  beg  a  few 

Pure  opal  showers  new  shed. 

Chorus 
Nor  dew,  nor  showers,  nor  sea  can  slake 
Thy  quenchless  heat,  but  Lethe's  lake. 

A.  ToiutisetiJ 


I.  The  Resolve 

'  I  ^ELL  me  not  of  a  face  that's  fair, 
-*■  Nor  lip  and  cheek  that's  red, 

Nor  of  the  tresses  of  her  hair, 

Nor  curls  in  order  laid; 
Nor  of  a  rare  seraphic  voice. 

That  like  an  angel  sings; 
Though,  if  I  were  to  take  my  choice, 
I  would  have  all  these  things. 

69 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  if  that  thou  wilt  have  me  love, 

And  it  must  be  a  she, 
The  only  argument  can  move 
Is,  that  she  will  love  me. 

The  glories  of  your  ladies  be 

But  metaphors  of  things, 
And  but  resemble  what  we  see 

Each  common  object  brings. 
Roses  out-red  their  lips  and  cheeks. 

Lilies  their  whiteness  stain: 
What  fool  is  he  that  shadows  seeks. 

And  may  the  substance  gain! 
Then  if  thou'lt  have  me  love  a  lass, 

Let  it  be  one  tliat's  kind. 
Else  I'm  a  servant  to  the  glass 

That's  with  Canary  lined. 


^2.  The  Vow 

T)Y  my  life  I  vow, 
^-^     That  my  life  art  thou, 
By  my  heart  and  by  my  eyes, 

But  thy  faith  denies 
To  my  juster  oath  t'  incline. 
For  thou  say'st  I  swear  by  thine. 

By  this  sigh  I  swear, 
By  this  falling  tear, 
70 


A.  Br 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

By  the  undeserved  pains 

My  griev'd  soul  sustains: 
Now  thou  may'st  beheve  my  moan, 
These  are  too  too  much  my  own. 


Sir.  E  Sherburne 


The  Relapse 

/^~\  TURN  away  those  cruel  eyes, 
^^     The  stars  of  my  undoing! 
Or  death,  in  such  a  bright  disguise. 
May  tempt  a  second  wooing. 


Punish  their  blindly  impious  pride. 
Who  dare  contemn  thy  glory! 

It  was  my  fall  that  deified 

Thy  name,  and  seal'd  thy  story. 

Yet  no  new  sufferings  can  prepare 
A  higher  praise  to  crown  thee; 

Though  my  first  death  proclaim  thee  fair. 
My  second  will  unthrone  thee. 

Lovers  will  doubt  thou  canst  entice 

No  other  for  thy  fuel. 
And  if  thou  burn  one  victim  twice, 

Both  think  thee  poor  and  cruel! 


T.  Stanley 
71 


THE  BOOK  OF 
5^.  The  Sweetmeat 

THOU  gav'st  me  late  to  eat 
A  sweet  without,  but  within,  bitter  meat: 
As  if  thou  would'st  have  said  'Here,  taste  in  this 
What  Celia  is.' 

But  if  there  ought  to  be 
A  likeness,  dearest,  'twixt  thy  gift  and  thee. 
Why  first  what's  sweet  in  thee  should  I  not  taste. 
The  bitter  last  ? 

Sir  E.  Sherburne 


^^.  The  Forsaken  Maid 

GO,  fickle  man,  and  teach  the  moon  to  change, 
The  winds  to  vary,  the  coy  bee  to  range: 
You   that   despise  the  conquest  of  a  town, 
Rendered  without  resistance  of  one  frown. 

Is  this  of  easy  faith  the  recompense  ? 
Is  my  prone  love's  too  prodigal  expense 
Rewarded  with  disdain  ?     Did  ever  dart 
Rebound  from  such  a  penetrable  heart  ? 

Diana,  in  the  service  of  whose  shrine, 
Myself  to  single  life  I  will  confine. 
Revenge  thy  votaress;  for  unto  thee 
The  ruling  ocean  bends  his  azure  knee. 

72 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  since  he  loves  upon  rough  seas  to  ride, 
Grant  such  an  Adria,  whose  swelHng  tide, 
And  stormy  tongue,  may  his  false  vessel  wrack. 
And  make  the  cordage  of  his  heart  to  crack. 

fV.  H amynond 


^6.  The  Disposition 

'T^HOUGH  when  I  lov'd  thee  thou  wert  fair, 

-•-         Thou  art  no  longer  so: 
Those  glories  do  the  pride  they  wear 

Unto  opinion  owe. 
Beauties,  like  stars,  in  borrow'd  lustre  shine: 
And  'twas  my  love  that  gave  thee  thine. 

The  flames  that  dwelt  within  thine  eye 

Do  now  with  mine  expire; 
Thy  brightest  graces  fade  and  die 

At  once,  with  my  desire. 
Love's  fires  thus  mutual  influence  return: 
Thine  cease  to  shine  when  mine  to  burn. 

Then,  proud  Celinda,  hope  no  more 

To  be  implor'd  or  woo'd, 
Since  by  thy  scorn  thou  dost  restore 

The  wealth  my  love  bestow'd; 
And  thy  despis'd  disdain  too  late  shall  find 
That  none  are  fair  but  who  are  kind. 


T.  Stanley 

72> 


THE  BOOK  OF 

^y.  Humility 

"XT OR  Love  nor  Fate  dare  I  accuse 
■^  ^      For  that  my  love  did  me  refuse, 
But  O!  mine  own  unworthiness 
That  durst  presume  so  mickle  bhss. 
It  was  too  much  for  me  to  love 
A  man  so  like  the  gods  above: 
An  angel's  shape,  a  saint-like  voice, 
Are  too  divine  for  human  choice. 

0  had  I  wisely  given  my  heart 
For  to  have  loved  him  but  in  part; 
Sought  only  to  enjoy  his  face, 

Or  any  one  peculiar  grace 

Of  foot,  of  hand,  of  lip,  or  eye, — 

1  might  have  lived  where  now  I  die: 
But  I,  presuming  all  to  choose. 

Am  now  condemned  all  to  lose. 

5^.  Change  Defended 


R.  Brome 


T    EAVE,  Chloris,  leave;  prithee  no  more 
^-^    With  want  of  love  or  lightness  charge  me: 
'Cause  thy  looks  captived  me  before. 
May  not  another's  now  enlarge  me  ? 

He  whose  misguided  zeal  hath  long 
Paid  homage  to  some  star's  pale  light. 

Better  informed,  may  without  wrong 
Leave  that  t'  adore  the  queen  of  night. 

74 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Then  if  my  heart,  which  long  served  thee, 

Will  to  Carintha  now  incline; 
Why  termed  inconstant  should  it  be 

For  bowing  'fore  a  richer  shrine  ? 

Censure  those  lovers  so,  whose  will 

Inferior  objects  can  entice; 
Who  changes  for  the  better  still, 

Makes  that  a  virtue,  you  call  vice. 

Sir  E.  Sherburne 


59.  The  Exequies 


D' 


|RAW  near, 

You  lovers,  that  complain 
Of  Fortune  or  Disdain, 
And  to  my  ashes  lend  a  tear. 
Melt  the  hard  marble  with  your  groans. 
And  soften  the  relentless  stones. 
Whose  cold  embraces  the  sad  subject  hide 
Of  all  Love's  cruelties,  and  Beauty's  pride. 

No  verse, 
No  epicedium,  bring; 
Nor  peaceful  requiem  sing. 
To  charm  the  terrors  of  my  hearse; 
No  profane  numbers  must  flow  near 
The  sacred  silence  that  dwells  here. 
Vast  griefs  are  dumb;  softly,  oh  softly  mourn! 
Lest  you  disturb  the  peace  attends  my  urn. 

75 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Yet  strew 
Upon  my  dismal  grave 
Such  offerings  as  you  have: 
Forsaken  cypress,  and  sad  yew; 
For  kinder  flowers  can  take  no  birth 
Or  growth  from  such  unhappy  earth. 
Weep  only  o'er  my  dust,  and  say:     'Here  lies 
To  Love  and  Fate  an  equal  sacrifice.' 

T .  Stanley 


60.  The  Parting 

T   GO  dear  Saint,  away, 

-*-      Snatch'd  from  thy  arms 

By  far  less  pleasing  charms. 

Than  those  I  did  obey; 
But  if  hereafter  thou  shalt  know 

That  grief  hath  killed  me,  come. 
And  on  my  tomb 

Drop,  drop  a  tear  or  two; 
Break  with  thy  sighs  the  silence  of  my  sleep, 
And  I  shall  smile  in  death  to  see  thee  weep. 

Thy  tears  may  have  the  power 

To  reinspire 
My  ashes  with  new  fire, 
Or  change  me  to  some  flower. 
Which,  planted  'twixt  thy  breasts,  shall  grow: 
Veil'd  in  this  shape,  I  will 
Dwell  with  thee  still. 
Court,  kiss,  enjoy  thee  too: 
76 


RESTORATION  VERSE 


Securely  we'll  contemn  all  envious  force, 
And  thus  united  be  by  death's  divorce. 


T .  Stanley 


6i.  The   Tomb 

\  1  7HEN,  cruel  fair  one,  I  am  slain 
*  '  By  thy  disdain, 

And  as  a  trophy  of  thy  scorn 

To  some  old  tomb  am  borne. 
Thy  fetters  must  their  power  bequeath 
To  those  of  Death; 
Nor  can  thy  flame  immortal  burn 
Like  monumental  fires  within  an  urn. 
Thus  freed  from  thy  proud  empire,  I  shall  prove 
There  is  more  liberty  in  Death  than  Love. 

And  when  forsaken  lovers  come 

To  see  my  tomb. 
Take  heed  thou  mix  not  with  the  crowd 

And  as  a  victor,  proud 
To  view  the  spoils  thy  beauty  made, 
Press  near  my  shade! 

Lest  thy  too  cruel  breath,  or  name, 
Should  fan  my  ashes  back  into  a  flame, 
And  thou,  devour'd  by  this  revengeful  fire. 
His  sacrifice,  who  died  as  thine,  expire. 

Or  should  my  dust  thy  pity  move 
That  could  not,  love, 

77 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thy  sighs  might  wake  me,  and  thy  tears 

Renew  my  life  and  years; 
Or  should  thy  proud  insulting  scorn 
Laugh  at  my  urn, 

Kindly  deceiv'd  by  thy  disdain, 
I  might  be  smil'd  into  new  life  again. 
Then  come  not  near:  since  both  thy  love  and  hate 
Have  equal  power  to  kill  or  animate. 

But  if  cold  earth  or  marble  must 

Conceal  my  dust, 
Whilst,  hid  in  some  dark  ruins,  I 

Dumb  and  forgotten  lie, 
The  pride  of  all  thy  victory 
Will  sleep  with  me; 
And  they  who  should  attest  thy  glory 
Will  or  forget,  or  not  believe  this  story. 
Then,  to  increase  thy  triumph,  let  me  rest, 
(Since  by  thine  eye  slain,)  buried  in  thy  breast! 

T.   Stanley 


62.  To   the  State  of  Love 

Or  the  Senses^  Festival 

T   SAW  a  vision  yesternight 
-*-      Enough  to  sate  a  Seeker's  sight; 
I  wished  myself  a  Shaker  there. 
And  her  quick  pants  my  trembling  sphere. 
It  was  a  she  so  glittering  bright, 
You'd  think  her  soul  an  Adamite; 
78 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

A  person  of  so  rare  a  frame, 
Her  body  might  be  lined  with  the  same. 
Beauty's  chiefest  maid  of  honour, 
You  may  break  Lent  with  looking  on  her. 
Not  the  fair  Abbess  of  the  skies 
With  all  her  nunnery  of  eyes 
Can  show  me  such  a  glorious  prize! 

And  yet  because  'tis  more  renown 

To  make  a  shadow  shine,  she's  brown, — 

A  brown  for  which  Heaven  would  disband 

The  galaxy  and  stars  be  tanned; 

Brown  by  reflection  as  her  eye 

Dazzle's  the  summer's  livery. 

Old  dormant  windows  must  confess 

Her  beams  their  glimmering  spectacles; 

Struck  with  the  splendour  of  her  face 

Do  the  office  of  a  burning  glass. 

Now  where  such  radiant  lights  have  shown 
No  wonder  if  her  cheeks  be  grown 
Sunburned,  with  lustre  of  her  own. 

My  sight  took  pay  but  (thank  my  charms!) 

I  now  impale  her  in  mine  arms, — 

(Love's  compasses  confining  you. 

Good  angels,  to  a  circle  too.) 

Is  not  the  uinverse  straight-laced 

When  I  can  clasp  it  in  the  waist .'' 

My  amorous  folds  about  thee  hurled 

With  Drake  I  girdle  in  the  world; 

I  hoop  the  firmament,  and  make 

This,  my  embrace,  the  zodiac. 

79 


THE  BOOK  OF 

How  could  thy  center  take  my  sense 
When  admiration  doth  commence 
At  the  extreme  circumference  ? 

Now  to  the  melting  kiss  that  sips 
The  jellied  philtre  of  her  lips; 
So  sweet  there  is  no  tongue  can  praise't 
Till  transubstantiate  with  a  taste. 
Inspired  like  Mahomet  from  above 
By  the  billing  of  my  heavenly  dove 
Love  prints  his  signets  in  her  smacks, 
Those  ruddy  drops  of  squeezing  wax, 
Which,  wheresoever  she  imparts, 
They've  privy  seals  to  take  up  hearts. 
Our  mouths  encountering  at  the  sport 
My  slippery  soul  had  quit  the  fort 
But  that  she  stopped  the  sally-port. 

Next  to  these  sweets,  her  lips  dispence 

(As  twin  conserves  of  eloquence,) 

The  sweet  perfume  of  her  breath  affords. 

Incorporating  with  her  words. 

No  rosary  this  votress  needs, — 

Her  very  syllables  are  beads; 

No  sooner  'twixt  those  rubies  born, 

But  jewels  are  in  ear-rings  worn. 

With  that  delight  her  speech  doth  enter; 

It  is  a  kiss  of  the  second  venter. 
And  I  dissolve  at  what  I  hear 
As  if  another  Rosamond  were 
Couched  in  the  labyrinth  of  mv  ear. 
80 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Yet  that's  but  a  preludious  bliss, 
Two  souls  pickeering  in  a  kiss. 
Embraces  do  but  draw  the  line, 
'Tis  storming  that  must  take  her  in. 
When  bodies  join  and  victory  hovers 
'Twixt  the  equal  fluttering  lovers, 
This  is  the  game;  make  stakes,  my  dear! 
Hark,  how  the  sprightly  chanticleer, 
(That  Baron  Tell-clock  of  the  night,) 
Sounds  boutesel  to  Cupid's  knight. 
Then  have  at  all,  the  pass  is  got, 
For  coming  off,  oh,  name  it  not! 
Who  would  not  die  upon  the  spot  ^ 


J.  Cleveland 


dj.    Friendship  and  Single  Life,  Against 
Love  and  Marriage 

T    OVE,  in  what  poison  is  thy  dart 
■*--'   Dipt,  when  it  makes  a  bleeding  heart .'' 
None  know,  but  they  who  feel  the  smart. 

It  is  not  thou,  but  we  are  blind, 
And  our  corporeal  eyes  (we  find) 
Dazzle  the  optics  of  our  mind. 

Lov«  to  our  citadel  resorts, 
Through  those  deceitful  sally-ports. 
Our  sentinels  betray  our  forts. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

What  subtle  witchcraft  man  constrains, 
To  change  his  pleasure  into  pains, 
And  all  his  freedom  into  chains  ? 

May  not  a  prison  or  a  grave, 
Like  wedlock,  honour's  title  have  ? 
That  word  makes  free-born  man  a  slave. 

How  happy  he  that  loves  not,  lives! 
Him  neither  hope  nor  fear  deceives. 
To  fortune  who  no  hostage  gives. 

How  unconcern'd  in  things  to  come! 
If  here  uneasy,  finds  at  Rome, 
At  Paris,  or  Madrid,  his  home. 

Secure  from  low  and  private  ends. 
His  life,  his  zeal,  his  wealth  attends 
His  prince,  his  country,  and  his  friends. 

Danger  and  honour  are  his  joy; 
But  a  fond  wife,  or  wanton  boy. 
May  all  those  generous  thoughts  destroy. 

Then  he  lays-by  the  public  care. 
Thinks  of  providing  for  an  heir; 
Learns  how  to  get,  and  how  to  spare. 

Nor  fire,  nor  foe,  nor  fate,  nor  night. 
The  Trojan  hero  did  affright. 
Who  bravely  twice  renew'd  the  fight. 
82 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Though  still  his  foes  in  number  grew, 
Thicker  their  darts  and  arrows  flew, 
Yet  left  alone,  no  fear  he  knew. 

But  death  in  all  her  forms  appears, 
From  every  thing  he  sees  and  hears, 
For  whom  he  leads,  and  whom  he  bears. 

Love,  making  all  things  else  his  foes, 
Like  a  fierce  torrent,  overflows 
Whatever  doth  his  course  oppose. 

This  was  the  cause  the  poets  sung, 
Thy  mother  from  the  sea  was  sprung, 
But  they  were  mad  to  make  thee  young. 

Her  father,  not  her  son,  art  thou: 
From  our  desires  our  actions  grow; 
And  from  the  cause  the  effect  must  flow. 

Love  is  as  old  as  place  or  time; 
'Twas  he  the  fatal  tree  did  climb, 
Grandsire  of  father  Adam's  crime. 

Well  may'st  thou  keep  this  world  in  awe; 
Religion,  wisdom,  honour,  law. 
The  tyrant  in  his  triumph  draw. 

'Tis  he  commands  the  power  aboves; 
Phoebus  resigns  his  darts,  and  Jove 
His  thunder,  to  the  God  of  Love. 


83 


THE  BOOK  OF 

To  him  doth  his  feign'd  mother  yield; 
Nor  Mars  (her  champion's)  flaming  shield 
Guards  him,  when  Cupid  takes  the  field. 

He  clips  Hope's  wings,  whose  airy  bliss 
Much  higher  than  fruition  is; 
But  less  than  nothing  if  it  miss. 

When  matches  Love  alone  projects, 
The  cause  transcending  the  efi^ects. 
That  wild-fire's  quench'd  in  cold  neglects. 

Whilst  those  conjunctions  prove  the  best, 
Where  Love's  of  blindness  despossest. 
By  perspectives  of  interest. 

Though  Solomon  with  a  thousand  wives. 
To  get  a  wise  successor  strives, 
But  one  (and  he  a  fool)  survives. 

Old  Rome  of  children  took  no  care. 

They  with  their  friends  their  beds  did  share, 

Secure  t'adopt  a  hopeful  heir. 

Love,  drowsy  days  and  stormy  nights 
Makes;  and  breaks  friendship,  whose  delights 
Feeds,  but  not  glut  our  appetites. 

Well-chosen  friendship,  the  most  noble 
Of  virtues,  all  our  joys  make  double, 
And  into  halves  divides  our  trouble. 
84 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  when  the  unlucky  knot  we  tie, 
Care,  avarice,  fear,  and  jealousy, 
Make  friendship  languish  till  it  die. 

The  wolf,  the  lion,  and  the  bear. 
When  they  their  prey  in  pieces  tear, 
To  quarrel  with  themselves  forbear. 

Yet  timorous  deer,  and  harmless  sheep. 
When  love  into  their  veins  doth  creep. 
That  law  of  nature  cease  to  keep. 

Who  then  can  blame  the  amorous  boy. 

Who,  the  fair  Helen  to  enjoy. 

To  quench  his  own,  set  fire  on  Troy  ? 

Such  is  the  world's  preposterous  fate. 
Amongst  all  creatures,  mortal  hate 
Love  (though  immortal)  doth  create. 

But  love  may  beasts  excuse,  for  they 
Their  actions  not  by  reason  sway. 
But  their  brute  appetites  obey. 

But  man's  that  savage  beast,  whose  mind 
From  reason  to  self-love  declin'd. 
Delights  to  prey  upon  his  kind. 


Sir  J.  Denliam 
85 


THE  BOOK  OF 

64.  EpithalciniiiiDi 

TTEAVENLY  fair  Urania's  son, 
^  •*•      Thou  that  dwell'st  on  Helicon, 

Hymen,  O  thy  brows  impale, 

To  the  bride  the  bridegroom  hale 

Take  thy  saffron  robe  and  come 

With  sweet-flowered  marjoram; 

Yellow  socks  of  woollen  wear, 

With  a  smiling  look  appear; 

Shrill  Epithalamiums  sing. 

Let  this  day  with  pleasure  spring; 

Nimbly  dance;  the  flaming  tree, 

Take  in  that  fair  hand  of  thine. 

Let  good  auguries  combine 

For  the  pair  that  now  are  wed; 

Let  their  joys  be  nourished 

Like  a  myrtle,  ever  green. 

Owned  by  the  Cyprian  queen, 

Who  fosters  it  with  rosy  dew, 

Where  her  nymphs  their  sport  pursue. 

Leave  th'  Aonian  cave  behind 

(Come,  O  come  with  willing  mind!) 

And  the  Thespian  rocks,  whence  drill 

Aganippe  waters  still. 

Chastest  virgins,  you  that  are 

Either  for  to  make  or  mar. 

Make  the  air  with  Hymen  ring, 

Hymen,  Hymenicus  sing! 

S,  Sheppard 


86 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

65.  Childhood 


I 


CANNOT  reach  it;  and  my  striving  eye 
Dazzles  at  it,  as  at  eternity. 


Were  now  that  chronicle  aHve, 
Those  white  designs  which  children  drive, 
And  the  thoughts  of  each  harmless  hour, 
With  their  content  too  in  my  pow'r. 
Quickly  would  I  make  my  path  ev'n. 
And  by  mere  playing  go  to  heaven. 


Why  should  men  love 
A  wolf,  more  than  a  lamb  or  dove  ? 
Or  choose  hell-fire  and  brimstone  steams 
Before  bright  stars  and  God's  own  beams  ? 
Who  kisseth  thorns  will  hurt  his  face. 
But  flowers  do  both  refresh  and  grace; 
And  sweetly  living — fie  on  men! — 
Are,  when  dead,  medicinal  then; 
If  seeing  much  should  make  staid  eyes, 
And  long  experience  should  make  wise;    . 
Since  all  that  age  doth  teach  is  ill. 
Why  should  I  not  love  childhood  still  ? 
Why,  if  I  see  a  rock  or  shelf. 
Shall  I  from  thence  cast  down  myself? 
Or  by  complying  with  the  world. 
From  the  same  precipice  be  hurled  ? 
Those  observations  are  but  foul. 
Which  make  me  wise  to  lose  my  soul. 


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THE  BOOK  OF 

And  yet  the  practice  worldlings  call 
Business,  and  weighty  action  all, 
Checking  the  poor  child  for  his  play. 
But  gravely  cast  themselves  away. 

Dear,  harmless  age!  the  short,  swift  span 
Where  weeping  virtue  parts  with  man; 
Where  love  without  lust  dwells,  and  bends 
What  way  we  please  without  self-ends. 

An  age  of  mysteries!  which  he 
Must  live  twice  that  would  God's  face  see; 
Which  angels  guard,  and  with  it  play. 
Angels!  which  foul  men  drive  away. 

How  do  I  study  now,  and  scan 
Thee  more  than  e'er  I  studied  man, 
And  only  see  through  a  long  night 
Thy  edges  and  thy  bordering  light! 
O  for  thy  centre  and  midday! 
for  sure  that  is  the  narrow  way! 


H.  Faughan 


66.  The  Burial  of  an  Infant 

13  LEST  infant  bud,  whose  blossom-life 
^-^     Did  only  look  about,  and  fall. 
Wearied  out  in  a  harmless  strife 
Of  tears  and  milk,  the  food  of  all! 

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RESTORATION  VERSE 

Sweetly  didst  thou  expire:  thy  soul 

Flew  home  unstain'd  by  his  new  kin; 
For  ere  thou  knew'st  how  to  be  foul, 

Death  wean'd  thee  from  the  world,  and  sin. 

Softly  rest  all  thy  virgin-crumbs! 

Lapp'd  in  the  sweets  of  thy  young  breath, 
Expecting  till  thy  Saviour  comes 

To  dress  them,  and  unswaddle  death. 

H.  VaiigJian 


6j.  Song 

SEE,  O  see! 
How  every  tree, 
Every  bower, 
Every  flower, 
A  new  life  gives  to  others'  joys, 
Whilst  that  I 
Grief-stricken  lie, 
Nor  can  meet 
With  any  sweet 
But  what  faster  mine  destroys. 
What  are  all  the  senses'  pleasures, 
When  the  mind  has  lost  all  measures  ? 

Hear,  O  hear! 
How  sweet  and  clear 
The  nightingale 
And  waters'  fall 
In  concert  join  for  others'  ears, 

89 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Whilst  to  me, 

For  harmony, 

Every  air 

Echoes  despair, 
And  every  drop  provokes  a  tear. 
What  are  all  the  senses'  pleasures, 
When  the  mind  has  lost  all  measures  ? 

G.  Dtgby,  Earl  of  Bristol 

68.  Eyes  and   Tears 

T  T  OW  wisely  Nature  did  decree, 

-*■  -*•     With  the  same  eyes  to  weep  and  see; 

That,  having  viewed  the  object  vain. 

They  might  be  ready  to  complain! 

And,  since  the  self-deluding  sight 

In  a  false  angle  takes  each  height. 

These  tears,  which  better  measure  all. 

Like  watery  lines  and  plummets  fall. 

Two  tears,  which  sorrow  long  did  weigh 

Within  the  scales  of  either  eye, 

And  then  paid  out  in  equal  poise. 

Are  the  true  price  of  all  my  joys. 

What  in  the  world  most  fair  appears. 

Yea,  even  laughter,  turns  to  tears; 

And  all  the  jewels  which  we  prize 

Melt  in  these  pendants  of  the  eyes. 

I  have  through  every  garden  been, 

Amongst  the  red,  the  white,  the  green. 

And  yet  from  all  the  flowers  I  saw. 

No  honey,  but  these  tears  could  draw, 
90 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

So  the  all-seeing  sun  each  day 
Distils  the  world  with  chymic  ray; 
But  finds  the  essence  only  showers, 
Which  straight  in  pity  back  he  pours. 
Yet  happy  they  whom  grief  doth  bless, 
That  weep  the  more,  and  see  the  less; 
And,  to  preserve  their  sight  more  true, 
Bathe  still  their  eyes  in  their  own  dew. 
So  Magdalen  in  tears  more  wise. 
Dissolved  those  captivating  eyes, 
Whose  liquid  chains  could  flowing  meet 
To  fetter  her  Redeemer's  feet. 
Not  full  sails  hasting  loaden  home, 
Nor  the  chaste  lady's  pregnant  womb, 
Nor  Cynthia  teeming  shows  so  fair 
As  two  eyes  swollen  with  weeping  are. 
The  sparkling  glance  that  shoots  desire. 
Drenched  in  these  waves,  does  lose  its  fire; 
Yea  oft  the  Thunderer  pity  takes, 
And  here  the  hissing  lightning  slakes. 
The  incense  was  to  Heaven  dear. 
Not  as  a  perfume,  but  a  tear; 
And  stars  shew  lovely  in  the  night, 
But  as  they  seem  the  tears  of  light. 
Ope  then,  mine  eyes,  your  double  sluice. 
And  practise  so  your  noblest  use; 
For  others  too,  can  see,  or  sleep. 
But  only  human  eyes  can  weep. 
Now,  like  two  clouds  dissolving,  drop. 
And  at  each  tear  in  distance  stop; 
Now,  like  two  fountains,  trickle  down; 
Now,  like  two  floods,  o'erturn  and  drown; 


91 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thus  let  your  streams  o'erflow  your  springs, 
Till  eyes  and  tears  be  the  same  things; 
And  each  the  other's  difference  bears, 
These  weeping  eyes,  those  seeing  tears. 


A.  Marvel] 


6g.  The  Rahihow 


STILL  young  and  fine!  but  what  is  still  in  view 
We  slight  as  old  and  soil'd,  though  fresh  and  new. 
How  bright  wert  thou,  when  Shem's  admiring  eye 
Thy  burnished,  flaming  arch  did  first  descry! 
Then  Terah,  Nahor,  Haran,  Abram,  Lot, 
The  youthful  world's  grey  fathers  in  one  knot. 
Did  with  intentive  looks  watch  every  hour 
For  .thy  new  light,  and  trembled  at  each  shower! 
When  thou  dost  shine,  Darkness  looks  white  and  fair, 
Forms  turn  to  music,  clouds  to  smiles  and  air; 
Rain  gently  spends  his  honey-drops,  and  pours 
Balm  on  the  cleft  earth,  milk  on  grass  and  flowers. 
Bright  pledge  of  peace  and  sunshine!  the  sure  tie 
Of  thy  Lord's  hand,  the  object  of  His  eye! 
When  I  behold  thee,  though  my  light  be  dim, 
Distant  and  low,  I  can  in  thine  see  Him, 
Who  looks  upon  thee  from  His  glorious  throne, 
And  minds  the  covenant  'twixt  All  and  One. 
O  foul,  deceitful  men!  my  God  doth  keep 
His  promise  still,  but  we  break  ours  and  sleep. 
After  the  Fall  the  first  sin  was  in  blood. 
And  drunkenness  quickly  did  succeed  the  flood; 
But  since  Christ  died — as  if  we  did  devise 
92 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

To  lose  Him  too,  as  well  as  Paradise — 
These  two  grand  sins  we  join  and  act  together, 
Though  blood  and  drunkenness  make  but  foul,  foul  weather. 
Water^though  both  heaven's  windows  and  the  deep 
Full  forty  days  o'er  the  drown'd  wmld  did  weep — 
Could  not  reform  us;  and  blood — in  despite — 
Yea,  God's  own  blood,  we  tread  upon  and  slight. 
So  those  bad  daughters,  which  God  sav'd  from  fire. 
While  Sodom  yet  did  smoke,  lay  with  their  sire. 

Then  peaceful,  signal  bow,  but  in  a  cloud 

Still  lodg'd,  where  all  thy  unseen  arrows  shroud; 

I  will  on  thee  as  on  a  comet  look, 

A  comet,  the  sad  world's  ill-boding  book; 

Thy  light  as  luctual  and  stain'd  with  woes 

I'll  judge,  where  penal  flames  sit  mix'd  and  close; 

For  though  some  think  thou  shin'st  but  to  restrain 

Bold  storms,  and  simply  dost  attend  on  rain; 

Yet  I  know  well,  and  so  our  sins  require. 

Thou  dost  but  court  cold  rain,  till  rain  turns  fire. 

H.    Vaughan 


yo.  For  Hope 

T  TOPE,  of  all  ills  that  men  endure, 

-*■  -*-     The  only  cheap  and  universal  cure! 
Thou  captive's  freedom,  and  thou  sick  man's  health; 
Thou  loser's  victory,  and  thou  beggar's  wealth; 

Thou  manna,  which  from  Heav'n  we  eat. 

To  every  taste  a  several  meat. 

93 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thou  strong  retreat!  thou  sure  entail'd  estate, 

Which  nought  has  power  to  alienate. 
Thou  pleasant,  honest  flatterer!  tor  none 
Flatter  unhappy  men,  but  thou  alone. 


Hope,  thou  first-fruits  of  happiness; 
Thou  gentle  dawning  of  a  bright  success; 
Thou  good  preparative,  without  which  our  joy 
Does  work  too  strong,  and  whilst  it  cures,  destroy: 

Who  out  of  fortune's  reach  dost  stand, 

And  art  a  blessing  still  in  hand. 
Whilst  thee,  her  earnest-money  we  retain. 

We  certain  are  to  gain, 
Whether  she  her  bargain  break,  or  else  fulfill; 
Thou  only  good,  not  worse,  for  ending  iH! 


Brother  of  faith,  'twixt  whom  and  thee 
The  joys  of  Heaven  and  Earth  divided  be! 
Though  faith  be  heir,  and  have  the  fixt  estate, 
Thy  portion  yet  in  moveables  is  great. 

Happiness  it  self's  all  one 

In  thee,  or  in  possession. 
Only  the  future's  thine,  the  present  his. 

Thine's  the  more  hard  and  noble  bliss; 
Best  apprehender  of  our  joys,  which  hast 
So  long  a  reach,  and  yet  canst  hold  so  fast. 


Hope,  thou  sad  lover's  only  friend! 
Thou  way  that  mayst  dispute  it  with  the  end; 

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RESTORATION  VERSE 

For  love  I  fear's  a  fruit  that  does  delight 
The  taste  itself  less  than  the  smell  and  sight. 

Fruition  more  deceitful  is 

Than  thou  canst  be,  when  thou  dost  miss; 
Men  leave  thee  by  obtaining,  and  strait  flee 

Some  other  w^ay  again  to  thee; 
And  that's  pleasant  country,  without  doubt, 
To  which  all  soon  return  that  travel  out. 


A.  Cowley 


71.  A  Wish 


''  I  "HIS  only  grant  me,  that  my  means  may  lie 
-*■     Too  low  for  envy,  for  contempt  too  high. 

Some  honour  I  would  have, 
Not  from  great  deeds,  but  good  alone. 
The  unknown  are  better,  than  ill  known; 

Rumour  can  ope  the  grave. 
Acquaintance  I  would  have,  but  when't  depends 
Not. on  the  number,  but  the  choice  of  friends. 


Books  should,  not  business^  entertain  the  light, 
And  sleep,  as  undisturb'd  as  death,  the  night. 

My  house  a  cottage  more 
Than  palace,  and  should  fitting  be, 
For  all  my  use,  no  luxury. 

My  garden  painted  o'er 
With  nature's  hand,  not  art's;  and  pleasures  yield, 
Horace  might  envy  in  his  Sabine  field. 


95 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thus  would  I  double  my  life's  fading  space. 
For  he  that  runs  it  well,  twice  runs  his  race. 

And  in  this  true  delight. 
These  unbought  sports,  this  happy  state, 
I  would  not  fear  nor  wish  my  fate, 

But  boldly  say  each  night. 
To-morrow  let  my  sun  his  beams  display. 
Or,  in  clouds  hide  them;  I  have  liv'd  to-day. 


72.  The  Wish 


A.  Cowle 


'\  "\ /"ELL  then;  I  now  do  plainly  see, 
*  *       This  busy  world  and  I  shall  ne'er  agree; 
The  very  honey  of  all  earthly  joy 

Does  of  all  meats  the  soonest  cloy 

And  they,  methinks,  deserve  my  pity, 
Who  for  it  can  endure  the  stings. 
The  crowd,  and  buz,  and  murmurings 

Of  this  great  hive,  the  city. 

Ah,  yet,  ere  I  descend  to  the  grave 
May  I  a  small  house  and  large  garden  have! 
And  a  few  friends,  and  many  books,  both  true. 

Both  wise,  and  both  delightful  too! 

And  since  Love  ne'er  will  from  me  flee, 
A  mistress  moderately  fair. 
And  good  as  guardian  angels  are, 

Only  belov'd,  and  loving  me! 

Oh,  fountains,  when  in  you  shall  I 
Myself,  eased  of  unpeaceful  thoughts,  espy  ? 
96 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Oh  fields!     Oh  woods!  when,  when  shall  I  be  made 

The  happy  tenant  of  your  shade  ? 

Here's  the  spring-head  of  Pleasure's  flood; 
Where  all  the  riches  lie,  that  she 

Has  coin'd  and  stamp'd  for  good. 

Pride  and  ambition  here; 
,  Only  in  far-fetch'd  metaphors  appear; 
Here  nought  but  winds  can  hurtful  murmurs  scatter, 

And  nought  but  Echo  flatter. 

The  Gods,  when  they  descended,  hither 
From  heaven  did  always  choose  their  way; 
And  therefore  we  may  bodly  say. 

That  'tis  the  way  too  thither. 

How  happy  here  should  I, 
And  one  dear  She  live,  and  embracing  die! 
She  who  is  all  the  world,  and  can  exclude 

In  deserts  solitude. 

I  should  have  then  this  only  fear. 
Lest  men,  when  they  my  pleasures  see. 
Should  hither  throng  to  live  like  me. 

And  so  make  a  city  here. 

A.  Cowley 


7J.  To   a  Virtuous    Young  Lady 

T    ADY  that  in  the  prime  of  earliest  youth, 

^-^         Wisely  hath  shun'd  the  broad  way  and  the^reen, 

And  with  those  few  art  eminently  seen, 

That  labour  up  the  Hill  of  heav'nly  Truth, 

97 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  better  part  with  Mary  and  with  Ruth, 
Chosen  thou  hast,  and  they  that  overween, 
And  at  thy  growing  virtues  fret  their  spleen, 
No  anger  find  in  thee,  but  pity  and  ruth. 

Thy  care  is  fixt  and  zealously  attends 

To  fill  thy  odorous  Lamp  with  deeds  of  light. 

And  Hope  that  reaps  not  shame.     Therefore  be  sure 

Thou,  when  the  Bridegroom  with  his  feastfuU  friends 
Passes  to  bliss  at  the  mid  hour  of  night, 
Hast  gain'd  thy  entrance.  Virgin  wise  and  pure. 

].  Milton 


y^.     On  His  Being  Arrived  to   the  Age 
of   Twenty-Three 

T  TOW  soon  hath  Time  the  suttle  theef  of  youth, 

^  *■  Stoln  on  his  wing  my  three  and  twentith  year! 

My  hasting  dayes  flie  on  with  full  career. 
But  my  late  spring  no  bud  or  blossom  show'th. 
Perhaps  my  semblance  might  deceive  the  truth. 

That  I  to  manhood  am  arriv'd  so  near, 

And  inward  ripeness  doth  much  less  appear, 
That  som  more  timely-happy  spirits  indu'th. 

It  shall  be  still  in  strictest  measure  eev'n. 

To  that  same  lot,  however  mean,  or  high. 
Toward  which  Time  leads  me,  and  the  will   of  Heav'n; 

All  is,  if  I  have  grace  to  use  it  so, 

As  et^r  in  my  great  task  Masters  eye. 

/.  Milton 

98 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

75.  To  the  Royal  Society 

PHILOSOPHY  the  great  and  only  heir 

-^        Of  all  that  human  knowledge  which  has  been 

Unforfeited  by  man's  rebellious  sin, 
Though  full  of  years  he  do  appear, 

(Philosophy,  I  say,  and  call  it,  he, 

For  whatsoe'er  the  painter's  fancy  be, 

It  a  male-virtue  seems  to  me) 

Has  still  been  kept  in  nonage  till  of  late, 
Nor  manag'd  or  enjoy'd  his  vast  estate: 
Three  or  four  thousand  years  one  would  have  thought, 
To  ripeness  and  perfection  might  have  brought 

A  science  so  well  bred  and  nurst, 
And  of  such  hopeful  parts  too  at  the  first. 
But,  oh,  the  guardians  and  the  tutors  then, 
(Some  negligent,  and  some  ambitious  men) 

Would  ne'er  consent  to  set  him  free. 
Or  his  own  natural  powers  to  let  him  see, 
Lest  that  should  put  an  end  to  their  authority. 

That  his  own  business  he  might  quite  forget, 
They  amused  him  with  the  sports  of  wanton  wit; 
With  the  desserts  of  poetry  they  fed  him. 
Instead  of  solid  meats  to  increase  his  force; 
Instead  of  vigorous  exercise  they  led  him 
Into  the  pleasant  labyrinths  of  ever-fresh  discourse: 

Instead  of  carrying  him  to  see 
The  riches  which  do  hoarded  for  him  lie 

In  nature's  endless  treasury. 

They  chose  his  eye  to  entertain 

(His  curious  but  not  covetous  eye) 

99 


THE  BOOK  OF 

With  painted  scenes,  and  pageants  of  the  brain. 
Some  few  exalted  spirits  this  latter  age  has  shown, 
That  laboured  to  assert  the  liberty 
(From  guardians,  who  were  now  usurpers  grown) 
Of  this  old  minor  still,  captiv'd  philosophy; 

But  'twas  rebellion  call'd  to  fight 

For  such  a  long-oppressed  right. 
Bacon  at  last,  a  mighty  man,  arose 

Whom  a  wise  king,  and  nature,  chose 

Lord  Chancellor  of  both  their  laws, 
And  boldly  undertook  the  injur'd  pupil's  cause. 

Authority,  which  did  a  body  boast. 

Though  'twas  but  air  condens'd  and  stalked  about. 

Like  some  old  giant's  more  gigantic  ghost. 

To  terrify  the  learned  rout 
With  the  plain  magic  of  true  reason's  light, 

He  chased  out  of  our  sight; 
Nor  su/fer'd  living  man  to  be  misled 

By  the  vain  shadows  of  the  dead: 
To  graves,  from  whence  it  rose,  the  conquer'd  phantom  fled. 

He  broke  that  monstrous  god  which  stood 
In  midst  of  th'  orchard,  and  the  whole  did  claim, 

Which  with  a  useless  scythe  of  wood. 

And  something  else  not  worth  a  name, 

(Both  vast  for  shew,  yet  neither  fit 

Or  to  defend,  or  to  beget; 

Ridiculous  and  senseless  terrors!)  made 
Children  and  superstitious  men  afraid. 

The  orchard's  open  now,  and  free; 
Bacon  has  broke  that  scarecrow  deity; 

Come,  enter,  all  that  will, 
100 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Behold  the  ripened  fruit,  come  gather  now  your  fill. 

Yet  still,  methinks,  we  fain  would  be 

Catching  at  the  forbidden  tree, 

We  would  be  like  the  Deity, 
When  truth  and  falsehood,  good  and  evil,  we 
Without  the  senses'  aid  within  ourselves  would  see; 

For  'tis  God  only  who  can  find 

All  nature  in  his  mind. 

From  words,  which  are  but  pictures  of  the  thought, 
(Though  we  our  thoughts  from  them  perversely  drew) 
To  things,  the  mind's  right  object,  he  it  brought. 
Like  foolish  birds  to  painted  grapes  we  flew; 
He  sought  and  gather'd  for  our  use  the  true; 
And,  when  on  heaps  the  chosen  bunches  lay. 
He  pressed  them  wisely  the  mechanic  way, 
Till  all  their  juice  did  in  one  vessel  join. 
Ferment  into  a  nourishment  divine. 

The  thirsty  soul's  refreshing  wine. 
Who  to  the  life  an  exact  piece  would  make, 
Must  not  from  others'  work  a  copy  take; 

No,  not  from  Rubens  or  Van  Dyke; 
Much  less  content  himself  to  make  it  like 
Th'  ideas  and  the  images  which  lie 
In  his  own  fancy,  or  his  memory. 

No,  he  before  his  sight  must  place 

The  natural  and  living  face; 

The  real  object  must  command 
Each  judgment  of  his  eye,  and  motion  of  his  hand. 

From  these  and  all  long  errors  of  the  way, 
In  which  our  wandering  predecessors  went, 

lOI 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And,  like  th'  old  Hebrews,  many  years  did  stray 

In  deserts  but  of  small  extent, 
Bacon,  like  Moses,  led  us  forth  at  last; 

The  barren  wilderness  he  past; 

Did  on  the  very  border  stand 

Of  the  blest  promised  land. 
And  from  the  mountain's  top  of  his  exalted  wit, 

Saw  it  himself,  and  shew'd  us  it. 
But  life  did  never  to  one  man  allow 
7  ime  to  discover  worlds,  and  conquer  too; 
Nor  can  so  short  a  line  sufficient  be 
To  fathom  the  vast  depths  of  nature's  sea: 

The  work  he  did  we  ought  t'  admire. 
And  were  unjust  it  we  should  more  require 
From  his  few  years,  divided  'twixt  th'  excess 
Of  low  affliction,  and  high  happiness. 
For  who  on  things  remote  can  fix  his  sight, 
That's  always  in  a  triumph,  or  a  fight  ? 

From  yo'Jj  great  champions,  we  expect  to  get 
These  spacious  countries  but  discover'd  yet; 
Countries  where  \et  instead  of  nature,  we 
Her  images  and  idols  worship'd  see: 
These  large  and  wealthy  regions  to  subdue, 
Though  learning  has  whole  armies  at  command, 

Quarter'd  about  in  every  land, 
A  better  troop  she  ne'er  together  drew. 

Methinks,  like  Gideon's  little  band, 

God  with  design  has  pick'd  out  you. 
To  do  those  noble  wonders  by  a  few: 
When  the  whole  host  he  saw,  'They  are'  (said  he) 

'Too  many  to  o'ercome  for  me'; 
102 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  now  he  chooses  out  his  men, 

Much  in  the  way  that  he  did  then: 

Not  those  many  whom  he  found 

Idly  extended  on  the  ground, 

To  drink  with  their  dejected  head 
The  stream,  just  so  as  by  their  mouths  it  fled: 

No,  but  those  few  who  took  the  waters  up, 
And  made  of  their  laborious  hands  the  cup. 

Thus  you  prepar'd;  and  in  the  glorious  fight 

Their  wondrous  pattern  too  you  take; 
Their  old  and  empty  pitchers  first  they  brake. 
And  with  their  hands  then  lifted  up  the  light. 

lo!     Sound  too  the  trumpets  here! 
Already  your  victorious  lights  appear; 
New  scenes  of  heaven  already  we  espy, 
And  crowds  of  golden  worlds  on  high; 
Which  from  the  spacious  plains  of  earth  and  sea 

Could  never  yet  discover'd  be, 
By  sailors'  or  Chaldeans'  watchful  eye. 
Nature's  great  works  no  distance  can  obscure 
No  smallness  her  near  objects  can  secure; 

Y'have  taught  the  curious  sight  to  press 

Into  the  privatest  recess 
Of  her  imperceptible  littleness. 

Y'have  learn'd  to  read  her  smallest  hand, 
And  well  begun  her  deepest  sense  to  understand. 

Mischief  and  true  dishonour  fall  on  those 
Who  would  to  laughter  or  to  scorn  expose 
So  virtuous  and  so  noble  a  design, 
So  human  for  its  use,  for  knowledge  so  divine. 

103 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  things  which  these  proud  men  despise,  and  call 

Impertinent,  and  vain,  and  small. 
Those  smallest  things  of  nature  let  me  know, 
Rather  than  all  their  greatest  actions  do. 
Whoever  would  deposed  truth  advance 

Into  the  throne  usurp'd  from  it, 
Must  teel  at  first  the  blows  of  ignorance. 

And  the  sharp  points  of  envious  wit. 
So,  when,  by  various  turns  of  the  celestial  dance, 

In  many  thousand  years 

A  star,  so  long  unknown,  appears. 
Though  heaven  itself  more  beauteous  by  it  grow, 
It  troubles  and  alarms  the  world  below. 
Does  to  the  wise  a  star,  to  fools  a  meteor  show. 

With  courage  and  success  you  the  bold  work  begin; 

Your  cradle  has  not  idle  been: 
None  e'er  but  Hercules  and  you  could  be 
At  five  years'  age  worthy  a  history. 

And  ne'er  did  fortune  better  yet 

Th'  historian  to  the  story  fit: 

As  you  from  all  old  errors  free 
And  purge  the  body  of  philosophy; 

So  from  all  modern  follies  he 
Has  vindicated  eloquence  and  wit. 
His  candid  style  like  a  clean  stream  does  slide, 

And  his  bright  fancy  all  the  way 

Does  like  the  sunshine  in  it  play; 
It  does  like  Thames,  the  best  of  rivers,  glide. 
Where  the  god  does  not  rudely  overturn, 

But  gently  pour  the  crystal  urn, 
And  with  judicious  hand  does  the  whole  current  guide. 
104 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'T  has  all  the  beauties  nature  can  impart, 

And  all  the  comely  dress,  without  the  paint,  of  art. 

A.  Cowley 


76.  Ode  of  JVit 


T 


ELL  me,  O  tell,  what  kind  of  thing  is  wit, 
Thou  who  master  art  of  it. 

For  the  first  matter  loves  variety  less; 

Less  women  love  't,  either  in  love  or  dress. 

A  thousand  different  shapes  it  bears. 
Comely  in  thousand  shapes  appears. 

Yonder  we  saw  it  plain;  and  here  'tis  now. 

Like  spirits  in  a  place,  we  know  not  how. 


London  that  vents  of  false  ware  so  much  store, 
In  no  ware  deceives  us  more. 

For  men  led  by  the  colour,  and  the  shape, 

Like  Zeuxes'  birds  fly  to  the  painted  grape; 

Some  things  do  through  our  judgment  pass 
As  through  a  multiplying  glass. 

And  sometimes,  if  the  object  be  too  far. 

We  take  a  falling  meteor  for  a  star. 


Hence  'tis  a  wit  that  greatest  word  of  fame 

Grows  such  a  common  name. 
And  wits  by  our  creation  they  become. 
Just  so,  as  titular  Bishops  made  at  Rome. 

105 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Tis  not  a  tale,  'tis  not  a  jest 
Admir'd  with  laughter  at  a  feast, 

Nor  florid  talk  which  can  that  title  gain; 

The  proofs  of  wit  for  ever  must  remain. 

'Tis  not  to  force  some  lifeless  verses  meet 
With  their  five  gouty  feet. 

All  everywhere,  like  man's,  must  be  the  soul, 

And  reason  the  inferior  powers  control. 

Such  were  the  numbers  which  could  call 
The  stones  into  the  Theban  wall. 

Such  miracles  are  ceas'd;  and  now  we  see 

No  towns  or  houses  rais'd  by  poetry. 

Yet  'tis  not  to  adorn  and  gild  each  part; 
That  shows  more  cost  than  art. 

Jewels  at  nose  and  lips  but  ill  appear  ; 

Rather  than  all  things  wit,  let  none  be  there. 
Several  lights  will  not  be  seen, 
If  there  be  nothing  else  between. 

Men  doubt,  because  they  stand  so  thick  i'  th'  sky, 

If  those  be  stars  which  paint  the  Galaxy. 

'Tis  not  when  two  like  words  make  up  one  noise> 
Jests  for  Dutch  men,  and  English  boys. 

In  which  who  finds  out  wit,  the  same  may  see 

In  an'grams  and  acrostics  poetry. 

Much  less  can  that  have  any  place 
At  which  a  virgin  hides  her  face, 

Such  dross  the  fire  must  purge  away;  'tis  just 

The  author  blush,  there  where  the  reader  must. 
1 06 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Tis  not  such  lines  as  almost  crack  the  stage 

When  Bajazet  begins  to  rage. 
Nor  a  tall  metaphor  in  the  bombast  way, 
Nor  the  dry  chips  of  short-lung'd  Seneca. 

Nor  upon  all  things  to  obtrude, 
And  force  some  odd  similitude. 

What  is  it  then,  which  like  the  power  divine 

We  only  can  by  negatives  define  ? 

In  a  true  piece  of  wit  all  things  must  be; 
Yet  all  things  there  agree. 

As  in  the  ark,  join'd  without  force  or  strife. 

All  creatures  dwelt;  all  creatures  that  had  life. 
Or  as  the  primitive  forms  of  all 
(If  we  compare  great  things  with  small) 

Which  without  discord  or  confusion  lie. 

In  that  strange  mirror  of  the  Deity. 

But  love  that  moulds  one  man  up  out  of  two. 

Makes  me  forget  and  injure  you. 
I  took  you  for  myself  sure  when  I  thought 
That  you  in  anything  were  to  be  taught. 
Correct  my  error  with  thy  pen; 
And  if  any  ask  me  then, 
What  thing  right  wit,  and  height  of  genius  is, 
I'll  only  shew  your  lines,  and  say,  'Tis  this. 

A.  Coivley 


107 


THE  BOOK  OF 

J  J.       To  the  Lord  General  Cromwell 
MAY  1652 

On  the  proposalls  of  certaine  ministers  at  the  Committee 
for  Propagation  of  tlie  Gospell 

/""CROMWELL,  our  cheif  of  men,  who  through  a  cloud 

^^    Not  of  warr  onely,  but  detractions  rude, 
Guided  by  faith  and  matchless  Fortitude 
To  peace  and  truth  thy  glorious  way  hast  plough'd, 

And  on  the  neck  of  crowned  Fortune  proud 

Hast  reard  Gods  Trophies,  and  his  work  pursu'd, 
While  Darwen  stream  with  blood  of  Scotts  imbru'd, 
And  Dunbarr  feild  resounds  thy  praises  loud. 

And  Worsters  laureat  wreath;  yet  much  remaines 
To  conquer  still;  peace  hath  her  victories 
No  less  renownd  then  warr,  new  foes  aries 

Threatning  to  bind  our  soules  with  secular  chaines: 
Helpe  us  to  save  free  Conscience  from  the  paw 
Of  hireling  wolves  whose  Gospell  is  their  maw. 

/.  M'Aton 

j8.  An  Horatian   Ode 

Upon  Crotmveir s  Return  from  Ireland 

'T^HE  forward  youth  that  would  appear, 
-*■       Must  now  forsake  his  Muses  dear. 
Nor  in  the  shadows  sing 
His  numbers  languishing: 
108 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Tis  time  to  leave  the  books  in  dust, 
And  oil  the  unused  armour's  rust; 

Removing  from  the  w^all 

The  corselet  of  the  hall. 

So  restless  Cromwell  could  not  cease 
In  the  inglorious  arts  of  peace, 

But  through  adventurous  war 

Urged  Jais  active  star; 

And,  like  the  three-forked  lightning,  first 
Breaking  the  clouds  where  it  was  nursed, 

Did  thorough  his  own  side 

His  fiery  way  divide: 

(For  'tis  all  one  to  courage  high. 
The  emulous,  or  enemy; 

And  with  such,  to  enclose. 

Is  more  than  to  oppose;) 

Then  burning  through  the  air  he  went, 

And  palaces  and  temples  rent; 
And  Caesar's  head  at  last 
Did  through  his  laurels  blast. 

'Tis  madness  to  resist  or  blame 
The  face  of  angry  Heaven's  flame; 

And  if  we  would  speak  true. 

Much  to  the  man  is  due. 

Who  from  his  private  gardens,  where 
He  lived  reserved  and  austere, 

109 


THE  BOOK  OF 

(As  if  his  highest  plot 
To  plant  the  bergamot;) 

Could  by  industrious  valour  climb 
To  ruin  the  great  work  of  Time, 

And  cast  the  kingdoms  old. 

Into  another  mould; 

Though  Justice  against  Fate  complain, 
And  plead  the  ancient  rights  in  vain, 
(But  those  do  hold  or  break, 
As  men  are  strong  or  weak.) 

Nature  that  hateth  emptiness. 

Allows  of  penetration  less. 

And  therefore  must  make  room 
Where  greater  spirits  come. 

What  field  of  all  the  civil  war, 
Where  his  were  not  the  deepest  scar .'' 

And  Hampton  shows  what  part 

He  had  of  wiser  art; 

Where,  twining  subtle  fears  with  hope. 
He  wove  a  net  of  such  a  scope 

That  Charles  himself  might  chase 
To  Caresbrooke's  narrow  case. 

That  thence  the  royal  actor  borne. 
The  tragic  scaffold  might  adorn; 
While  round  the  armed  bands 
Did  clap  their  bloody  hands. 
IIO 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

He  nothing  common  did,  or  mean, 
Upon  that  memorable  scene, 

But  with  his  keener  eye 

The  axe's  edge  did  try; 

Nor  called  the  gods  with  vulgar  spite 
To  vindicate  his  helpless  right; 

But  bowed  his  comely  head 

Down,  as  upon  a  bed. 

This  was  that  memorable  hour. 
Which  first  assured  the  forced  power; 

So,  when  they  did  design 

The  Capitol's  first  line, 

A  bleeding  head,  where  they  begun. 
Did  fright  the  architects  to  run; 

And  yet  in  that  the  state 

Foresaw  its  happy  fate. 

And  now  the  Irish  are  ashamed 
To  see  themselves  in  one  year  tamed; 
So  much  one  man  can  do. 
That  does  both  act  and  know. 

They  can  affirm  his  praises  best. 

And  have,  though  overcome,  confessed 

How  good  he  is,  how  just. 

And  fit  for  highest  trust. 

Nor  yet  grown  stiffer  with  command. 
But  still  in  the  republic's  hand — 

III 


THE  BOOK  OF 

How  fit  he  is  to  sway, 
That  can  so  well  obey! 

He  to  the  Commons'  feet  presents 
A  kingdom  for  his  first  year's  rents; 
And,  what  he  may,  forbears 
His  fame,  to  make  it  theirs; 

And  has  his  sword  and  spoils  ungirt, 
To  lay  them  at  the  public's  skirt: 

So,  when  the  falcon  high 

Falls  heavy  from  tlie  sky. 

She,  having  killed,  no  more  doth  search, 
But  on  the  next  green  bough  to  perch; 
Where,  when  he  first  does  lure. 
The  ialconer  has  her  sure. 

What  may  not  then  our  isle  presume, 
While  victory  his  crest  does  plume  ? 
What  may  not  others  fear. 
If  thus  he  crowns  each  year  ? 

As  Caesar,  he,  ere  long,  to  Gaul, 
To  Italy  an  Hannibal, 

And  to  all  states  not  free. 

Shall  climacteric  be. 

The  Pict  no  shelter  now  shall  find 
Within  his  parti-coloured  mind, 
But,  from  this  valour  sad, 
Shrink  underneath  the  plaid; 

112 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Happy,  if  in  the  tufted  brake, 
The  English  hunter  him  mistake, 

Nor  lay  his  hounds  in  near 

The  Caledonian  deer. 

But  thou,  the  war's  and  fortune's  son, 

March  indefatigably  on; 
And  for  the  last  effect, 
Still  keep  the  sword  erect; 

Besides  the  force  it  has  to  fright 
The  spirits  of  the  shady  night. 
The  same  arts  that  did  gain 
A  power,  must  it  maintain. 


A.  Marvcll 


yg.  Brutus 


T^XCELLENT  Brutus,  of  all  human  race, 
*^^     The  best  till  nature  was  improved  by  grace, 
Till  men  above  themselves  faith  raised  more 

Then  reason  above  beasts  before. 
Virtue  was  thy  life's  centre,  and  from  thence 
Did  silently  and  constantly  dispense 

The  gentle  vigorous  influence 
To  all  the  wide  and  fair  circumference: 
And  all  the  parts  upon  it  leaned  so  easily, 
Obey'd  the  mighty  force  so  willingly 
That  none  could  discord  or  disorder  see 

In  all  their  contrariety. 
Each  had  his  motion  natural  and  free, 
And  the  whole  no  more  moved  then  the  whole  world  could  be. 

113 


THE  BOOK  OF       . 

From  thy  strict  rule  some  think  that  thou  didst  swerve 
(Mistaken  honest  men!)  in  Caesar's  blood; 
What  mercy  could  the  tyrant's  life  deserve, 
From  him  who  kill'd  himself  rather  than  serve? 
Th'  heroic  exaltations  of  good 

Are  so  far  from  understood, 
We  count  them  vice:  alas,  our  sight's  so  ill, 
That  things  which  swiftest  move  seem  to  stand  still. 
We  look  not  upon  virtue  in  her  height. 
On  her  supreme  idea,  brave  and  bright. 

In  the  original  light: 
But  as  her  beams  reflected  pass 
Through  our  own  nature  or  ill-custom's  glass. 

And  'tis  no  wonder  so, 

If  with  dejected  eye 
In  standing  pools  we  seek  the  sky. 
That  stars,  so  high  above,  should  seem  to  us  below. 


Can  we  stand  by  and  see 
Our  mother  robbed,  and  bound,  and  ravish'd  be, 

Yet  not  to  her  assistance  stir, 
Pleas'd  with  the  strength  and  beauty  of  the  ravisher  f 
Or  shall  we  fear  to  kill  him,  if  before 

The  cancell'd  name  of  friend  he  bore  ? 
Ingrateful  Brutus  do  they  call  ? 
Ingrateful  Caesar  who  could  Rome  enthral! 
An  act  more  barbarous  and  unnatural 
(In  th'  exact  balance  of  true  virtue  tried) 
Than  his  successor  Nero's  parricide! 
There's  none  but  Brutus  could  deserve 
That  all  men  else  should  wish  to  serve, 
114 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  Caesar's  usurped  place  to  him  should  proffer; 
None  can  deserv't  but  he  who  would  refuse  the  offer. 

Ill  fate  assumed  a  body  thee  t'affright, 
And  wrapt  itself  i'  th'  terrors  of  the  night, 
'I'll  meet  thee  at  Philippi/  said  the  spright; 

*  I'll  meet  thee  there,'  saidst  thou, 
With  such  a  voice,  and  such  a  brow. 
As  put  the  trembling  ghost  to  sudden  flight. 

It  vanish'd,  as  a  taper's  light 

Coes  out  when  spirits  appear  in  sight. 
One  would  have  thought  t'had  heard  the  morning  crow. 

Or  seen  her  well-appointed  star 
Come  marching  up  the  eastern  hill  afar. 
Nor  durst  it  in  Philippi's  field  appear, 

But  unseen  attacked  thee  there. 
Had  it  presumed  in  any  shape  thee  to  oppose, 
Thou  wouldst  have  forced  it  back  upon  thy  foes: 

Or  slain't  like  Caesar,  though  it  be 
A  conqueror  and  a  monarch  mightier  far  than  he. 

What  joy  can  human  things  to  us  afford. 
When  we  see  perish  thus  by  odd  events, 

111  men,  and  wretched  accidents. 
The  best  cause  and  best  man  that  ever  drew  a  sword  ? 

When  we  see 
The  false  Octavius,  and  wild  Anthony, 

God-like  Brutus,  conquer  thee  ? 
What  can  we  say  but  thine  own  tragic  word, 
That  virtue,  which  had  worshipped  been  by  thee 
As  the  most  solid  good,  and  greatest  deity. 
By  this  fatal  proof  became 


THE  BOOK  OF 

An  idol  onlv%  and  a  name  ? 
Hold,  noble  Brutus!  and  restrain 
The  bold  voice  ot  thy  generous  disdain: 

These  mighty  gulfs  are  yet 
Too  deep  for  all  thy  judgment  and  thy  wit. 
The  time's  set  forth  already  which  shall  quell 
Stiff  reason,  when  it  offers  to  rebel. 

Which  these  great  secrets  shall  unseal, 

And  new  philosophies  reveal. 
A  few  years  more,  so  soon  hadst  thou  not  died, 
Would  have  confounded  human  virtue's  pride. 

And  shew'd  thee  a  God  crucified. 

A.  Cotvlcy 


80.  On  Shakespear   J 6 JO 

^^THAT  needs  mv  Shakespear  for  his  honour'd  Bones, 

^  ^       The  labour  of  an  age  in  piled  Stones, 
Or  that  his  hallow'd  reliques  should  be  hid 
Under  a  Stary-pointing  Pyramid  1 
Dear  son  of  Memory,  great  heir  of  Fame, 
What  need'st  thou  such  weak  witness  of  thy  name } 
Thou  in  our  wonder  and  astonishment 
Hast  built  thy  self  a  live-long  Monument. 
For  whilst  to  th'  shame  of  slow-endeavouring  art, 
Thy  easie  numbers  flow,  and  that  each  heart 
Hath  from  the  leaves  of  thv  unvalu'd  Book, 
Those  Delphick  lines  with  deep  impression  took, 
Then  thou  our  fancy  of  it  self  bereaving. 
Dost  make  us  Marble  with  too  much  Conceaving; 
116 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  so  Sepulcher'd  in  such  pomp  dost  lie, 

That  Kings  for  such  a  Tomb  would  wish  to  die.  ■ 

].  Milton 

8i.  On  Paradise  Lost 

^1  THEN  I  beheld  the  poet  blind,  yet  bold, 

*  *       In  slender  book  his  vast  design  unfold, 
Messiah  crowned,  God's  reconciled  decree. 
Rebelling  angels,  the  forbidden  tree. 
Heaven,  helL  earth,  chaos,  all;  the  argument 
Held  me  awhile  misdoubting  his  intent. 
That  he  would  ruin  (for  I  saw  him  strong) 
The  sacred  truths  to  fable  and  old  song, 
(So  Samson  groped  the  temple's  posts  in  spite) 
The  world  o'erwhelming  to  revenge  his  sight. 

Yet  as  I  read,  soon  growing  less  severe, 
I  liked  his  project   the  success  did  fear; 
Through  that  wide  field  how  he  his  way  should  find, 
O'er  which  lame  faith  leads  understanding  blind; 
Lest  he  perplexed  the  things  he  would  explain. 
And  what  was  easy  he  should  render  vain. 

Or  if  a  work  so  infinite  he  spanned. 
Jealous  I  was  that  some  less  skilful  hand 
(Such  as  disquiet  always  what  is  well. 
And  by  ill  imitating  would  excel) 
Might  hence  presume  the  whole  creation's  day 
To  change  in  scenes,  and  show  it  in  a  play. 

Pardon  me,  mighty  poet,  nor  despise 
My  causeless,  yet  not  impious,  surmise. 
But  I  am  now  convinced,  and  none  will  dare 
Within  thy  labours  to  pretend  a  share. 

117 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thou  hast  not  missed  one  thought  that  could  be  fit, 
And  all  that  was  improper  dost  omit; 
So  that  no  room  is  here  for  writers  left, 
But  to  detect  their  ignorance  or  theft. 

That  majesty  which  through  thy  work  doth  reign 
Draws  the  devout,  deterring  the  profane; 
And  things  divine  thou  treat'st  of  in  such  state 
As  them  preserves,  and  thee,  inviolate. 
At  once  delight  and  horror  on  us  seize, 
Thou  sing'st  with  so  much  gravity  and  ease. 
And  above  human  flight  dost  soar  aloft, 
With  plume  so  strong,  so  equal,  and  so  soft: 
The  bird  named  from  that  paradise  you  sing 
So  never  flags,  but  always  keeps  on  wing. 
Where  couldst  thou  words  of  such  a  compass  find  ? 
Whence  furnish  such  a  vast  expanse  of  mind  f 
Just  Heaven  thee,  like  Tiresias,  to  requite, 
Rewards  with  prophecy  thy  loss  of  sight. 

Well  mightst  thou  scorn  thy  readers  to  allure 
With  tinkling  rhyme,  of  thy  own  sense  secure, 
While  the  Town-Bayes  writes  all  the  while  and  spells. 
And  like  a  pack-horse  tires  without  his  bells. 
Their  fancies  like  our  bushy  points  appear: 
The  poets  tag  them,  we  for  fashion  wear. 
I  too,  transported  bv  the  mode,  off"end, 
And  while  I  meant  to  praise  thee,  mis-commend; 
Thy  verse  created  like  thy  theme  sublime, 
In  number,  weight,  and  measure,  needs  not  rhyme. 

J.  Marvell 


Il8 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

82.  To  the  Lady  Margaret  Ley 

T~^AUGHTER  to  that  good  Earl,  once  President 

^^  Of  Englands  Counsel,  and  her  Treasury, 
Who  liv'd  in  both,  unstain'd  with  gold  or  fee, 
And  left  them  both,  more  in  himself  content, 

Till  the  sad  breaking  of  that  Parlament 
Broke  him,  as  that  dishonest  victory 
At  Chaeronea,  fatal  to  liberty 
Kil'd  with  report  that  Old  man  eloquent. 

Though  later  born,  then  to  have  knovs^n  the  dayes 
Wherin  your  Father  flourisht,  yet  by  you 
Madam,  me  thinks  I  see  him  living  yet; 

So  well  your  words  his  noble  vertues  praise. 
That  all  both  judge  you  to  relate  them  true, 
And  to  possess  them,  Honour'd  Margaret. 

/.  Milton 

8^.  To  Mr.  Lawrence 

T    AWRENCE  of  vertuous  Father  vertuous  Son, 

■*— '     Now  that  the  Fields  are  dank,  and  ways  are  mire, 
Where  shall  we  sometimes  meet,  and  by  the  fire 
Help  wast  a  sullen  day;  what  may  be  won 

From  the  hard  Season  gaining:  time  will  run 
On  smoother,  till  Favonius  re-inspire 
The  frozen  earth;  and  cloth  in  fresh  attire 
The  Lillie  and  Rose,  that  neither  sow'd  nor  spun. 

What  neat  repast  shall  feast  us,  light  and  choice, 
Of  Attick  tast,  with  Wine,  whence  we  may  rise 
To  hear  the  Lute  well  toucht,  or  artfull  voice 

119 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Warble  immortal  Notes  and  Tuskan  Ayre  ? 

He  who  of  those  delights  can  judge,  and  spare 
To  interpose  them  oft,  is  not  unwise. 

].  Mthon 

84.  To   Cyriack  Skinner 

/"^YRIACK,  whose  Grandsire  on  the  royal  Bench 

^-^Of  Brittish  Themis,  with  no  mean  applause 
Pronounc't  and  in  his  volumes  taught  our  Lawes, 
Which  others  at  their  Barr  so  often  wrench: 

To  day  deep  thoughts  resolve  with  me  to  drench 
In  mirth,  that  after  no  repenting  drawes; 
Let  Euclid  rest  and  Archimedes  pause. 
And  what  the  Swede  intend,  and  what  the  French. 

To  measure  life,  learn  thou  betimes,  and  know 
Toward  solid  good  what  leads  the  nearest  way; 
For  other  things  mild  Heav'n  a  time  ordains. 

And  disapproves  that  care,  though  wise  in  show, 
That  with  superfluous  burden  loads  the  dav. 
And  when  God  sends  a  cheerful  hour,  refrains. 

J.  Milton 

85.  To  Mr.  Hohhes 

\  TAST  bodies  of  philosophy 
*        I  oft  have  seen,  and  read. 
But  all  are  bodies  dead. 
Or  bodies  by  art  fashioned; 
I  never  yet  the  living  soul  could  see, 

But  in  thy  books  and  thee. 
120 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Tis  only  God  can  know 
Whether  the  fair  idea  thou  dost  show 
Agree  entirely  with  his  own  or  no. 

This  I  dare  boldly  tell, 
'Tis  so  like  truth  'twill  serve  our  turn  as  well. 
Just,  as  in  nature,  thy  proportions  be, 
As  full  of  concord  their  variety, 
As  firm  the  parts  upon  their  centre  rest, 
And  all  so  solid  are  that  they  at  least 
As  much  as  nature,  emptiness  detest. 

Long  did  the  mighty  Stagirite  retain 
The  universal  intellectual  reign. 
Saw  his  own  country's  short-lived  leopard  slain; 
The  stronger  Roman  eagle  did  out-fly, 
Oftener  renewed  his  age,  and  saw  that  die. 
Mecca  itself,  in  spite  of  Mahomet,  possest, 
And,  chased  by  a  wild  deluge  from  the  east. 
His  monarchy  new  planted  in  the  west. 
Rut  as  in  time  each  great  imperial  race 
Degenerates,  and  gives  some  new  one  place: 

So  did  this  noble  empire  waste. 

Sunk  by  degrees  from  glories  past. 
And  in  the  school-men's  hands  it  perished  quite  at  last. 

Then  nought  but  words  it  grew. 

And  those  all  barbarous  too. 
It  perished,  and  it  vanished  there, 
The  life  and  soul  breathed  out,  became  but  empty  air. 

The  fields  which  answer'd  well  the  ancients'  plough. 
Spent  and  outworn  return  no  harvest  now, 

121 


THE  BOOK  OF 

In  barren  age  wild  and  unglorious  lie, 

And  boast  of  past  fertility, 
The  poor  relief  of  present  poverty. 

Food  and  fruit  we  now  must  want 
Unless  new  lands  we  plant. 
We  break  up  tombs  with  sacrilegious  hands; 

Old  rubbish  we  remove; 
To  walk  in  ruins,  like  vain  ghosts,  we  love, 
And  with  fond  divining  wands 
We  search  among  the  dead 
For  treasures  buried, 
Whilst  still  the  liberal  earth  does  hold 
So  many  virgin  mines  of  undiscovered  gold. 

The  Baltic,  Euxinc,  and  the  Caspian, 
And  slender-limbed  Mediterranean, 
Seem  narrow  creeks  to  thee,  and  only  fit 
For  the  poor  wretched  fisher-boats  of  wit. 
Thy  nobler  vessel  the  vast  ocean  tries, 

And  nothing  sees  but  seas  and  skies, 
Till  unknown  regions  it  descries. 
Thou  great  Columbus  ofthe  golden  lands  of  new  philosophies. 
Thy  task  was  harder  much  than  his. 
For  thy  learn'd  America  is 
Not  only  found  out  first  by  thee, 
And  rudely  left  to  future  industry; 

But  thy  eloquence  and  thy  wit. 
Has  planted,  peopled,  built,  and  civilis'd  it. 
I  little  thought  before, 
(Nor  being  my  own  self  so  poor 
Could  comprehend  so  vast  a  store) 
That  all  the  wardrobe  of  rich  eloquence, 
122 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Could  have  afforded  half  enough, 

Of  bright,  of  new,  and  lasting  stuff, 
To  clothe  the  mighty  limbs  of  thy  gigantic  sense. 
Thy  solid  reason  like  the  shield  from  heaven 

To  the  Trojan  hero  given, 
Too  strong  to  take  a  mark  from  any  mortal  dart, 
Yet  shines  with  gold  and  gems  in  every  part. 
And  wonders  on  it  graved  by  the  learn'd  hand  of  art; 

A  shield  that  gives  delight 

Even  to  the  enemies'  sight. 
Then,  when  they're  sure  to  lose  the  combat  by  't. 

Nor  can  the  snow  which  now  cold  age  does  shed 

Upon  thy  reverend  head, 
Quench  or  allay  the  noble  fires  within, 

But  all  which  thou  hast  been. 

And  all  that  youth  can  be  thou'rt  yet, 

So  fully  still  dost  thou 
Enjoy  the  manhood,  and  the  bloom  of  wit. 
And  all  the  natural  heat,  but  not  the  fever  too. 
So  contraries  on  /Etna's  top  conspire ; 
Here  hoary  frosts,  and  by  them  breaks  out  fire. 
A  secure  peace  the  faithful  neighbours  keep, 
Th'  emboldened  snow  next  to  the  flame  does  sleep. 

And  if  we  weigh,  like  thee. 

Nature,  and  causes,  we  shall  see 

That  thus  it  needs  must  be, 
To  things  immortal  time  can  do  no  wrong. 
And  that  which  never  is  to  die,  for  ever  must  be  young. 

A.  Cowley 


123 


THE  BOOK  OF 

86.  Upon    Tom   of  Christ  Church,   Oxford 

'  I  "HOU  that  by  ruin  dost  repair 
-*■       And  by  destruction  art  a  founder, 
Whose  art  doth  tell  us  what  men  are, 
Who  by  corruption  shall  rise  sounder. 
In  this  fierce  fire's  intensive  heat 
Remember  this  is  Tom  the  Great. 

And  Cyclops  think  at  every  stroke. 

Which  with  thy  sledge  his  side  shall  wound, 
That  then  some  statute  thou  hast  broke 
Which  long  depended  on  his  sound, 
And  that  our  college  gates  did  cry 
They  were  not  shut  since  Tom  did  die. 

Think  what  a  scourge  'tis  to  the  city 
To  drink  and  swear  by  Carfax  bell 
Which,  bellowing  without  tune  or  pity. 
The  days  and  nights  divides  not  well. 
But  the  poor  tradesman  must  give  o'er 
His  ale  at  eight  or  sit  till  four. 

We  all  in  haste  drink  off  our  wine 

As  if  we  never  should  drink  more, 
So  that  the  reckoning  after  nine 
Is  larger  now  than  that  before. 

Release  this  tongue  which  erst  could  say 
'Home,  scholars;     Drawer,  what's  to  pay.^* 

So  thou  of  order  shall  be  founder, 
Making  a  ruler  for  the  people, 
124 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

One  that  shall  ring  thy  praises  wonder 
Than  the  other  six  bells  in  the  steeple. 
Wherefore  think,  when  Tom  is  running 
Our  manners  wait  upon  thy  cunning. 

Then  let  him  raised  be  from  ground, 
The  same  in  number,  weight,  and  sound. 
So  may  thy  conscience  rule  thy  gain, 
Or,  would  thy  theft  might  be  thy  bane! 

] .   Cleveland  (  .?) 


?/.    When  the  Assault  was  Intended  to 
the  City 

^APTAIN  or  Colonel,  or  Knight  in  Arms, 

^^-^     Whose  chance  on  these  defenceless  dores  may  sease. 
If  ever  deed  of  honour  did  thee  please. 
Guard  them,  and  him  within  protect  from  harms, 

le  can  requite  thee,  for  he  knows  the  charms 
That  call  Fame  on  such  gentle  acts  as  these. 
And  he  can  spred  thy  Name  o're  Lands  and  Seas, 
What  ever  clime  the  Suns  bright  circle  warms. 

^ift  not  thy  spear  against  the  Muses  Bowre, 
The  great  Emathian  Conqueror  bid  spare 
The  house  of  Pindarus,  when  Temple  and  Towre 

Vent  to  the  ground:     And  the  repeated  air 
Of  sad  Electra's  Poet  had  the  power 
To  save  th'  Athenian  Walls  from  ruine  bare. 

].  Milton 

125 


THE  BOOK  OF 

88.    On  the  Late  Massacher  in  Piemont 

A  VENGE  O  Lord  thy  slaughter'd  Saints,  whose  bones 

■*■  *■     Lie  scatter'd  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold, 
Ev'n  them  who  kept  thy  truth  so  pure  of  old 
When  all  our  Fathers  worship't  Stocks  and  Stones, 

Forget  not:  in  thy  book  record  their  groanes 
Who  were  thy  Sheep  and  in  their  antient  Fold 
Slayn  by  the  bloody  Piemontese  that  roll'd 
Mother  with  Infant  down  the  Rocks.     Their  moans 

The  Vales  redoubl'd  to  the  Hills,  and  they 

To  Heav'n.     Their  martyr'd  blood  and  ashes  sow 
O're  all  th'  Italian  fields  where  still  doth  sway 

The  triple  Tyrant:  that  from  these  may  grow 
A  hunder'd-fold,  who  having  learnt  thy  way 
Early  may  fly  the  Babylonian  wo. 

].  Milton 


89.  Abel's  Blood 

O  AD,  purple  well!  Whose  bubbling  eye 
*^     Did  first  against  a  murd'rer  cry; 
Whose  streams,  still  vocal,  still  complain 

Of  bloody  Cain: 
And  now  at  evening  are  as  red 
As  in  the  morning  when  first  shed. 

If  single  thou 
— Though  single  voices  are  but  low, — 
Couldst  such  a  shrill  and  long  cry  rear 
As  speaks  still  in  thy  Maker's  ear, 
126 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

What  thunders  shall  those  men  arraign 
Who  cannot  count  those  they  have  slain. 
Who  bathe  not  in  a  shallow  flood, 
But  in  a  deep,  wide  sea  of  blood  ? 
A  sea,  whose  loud  waves  cannot  sleep, 
But  deep  still  calleth  upon  deep: 
Whose  urgent  sound,  like  unto  that 
Of  many  waters,  beateth  at 
The  everlasting  doors  above, 
Where  souls  behind  the  altar  move. 
And  with  one  strong,  incessant  cry 
Inquire,  'How  long?'  of  the  Most  High. 

Almighty  Judge! 
At  Whose  just  laws  no  just  men  grudge; 
Whose  blessed,  sweet  commands  do  pour 
Comforts,  and  joys,  and  hopes  each  hour 
On  those  that  keep  them;  O  accept 
Of  his  vow'd  heart,  whom  Thou  hast  kept 
From  bloody  men!  and  grant,  I  may 
That  sworn  memorial  duly  pay 
To  Thy  bright  arm,  which  was  my  light 
And  leader  through  thick  death  and  night! 

Ay!  may  that  flood, 
That  proudly  spilt  and  despis'd  blood. 
Speechless  and  calm,  as  infant's  sleep! 
Or  if  it  watch,  forgive  and  weep 
For  those  that  spilt  it!     May  no  cries 
From  the  low  Earth  to  high  Heaven  rise. 
But  what, — like  His  whose  blood  peace  brings- 
Shall — when  they  rise —  'speak  better  things' 
Than  Abel's  doth!     May  Abel  be 
Still  single  heard,  while  these  agree 

127 


THE  BOOK  OF 

With  His  mild  blood  in  voice  and  will 
Who  pray'd  for  those  that  did  Him  kill! 

H.  Vaughan 

go.  The  Rebel  Scot 

T_T  OW,  Providence  ?  and  yet  a  Scottish  crew^  ? 

'■  -*-     Then  Madame  Nature  wears  black  patches  too! 
What  shall  our  nation  be  in  bondage  thus 
Unto  a  land  that  truckles  under  us  ? 
Ring  the  bells  backward!     I  am  all  on  fire. 
Not  all  the  buckets  in  a  country  quire 
Shall  quench  my  rage.     A  poet  should  be  feared, 
When  angry,  like  a  comet's  flaming  beard. 
And  where's  the  stoic  can  his  wrath  appease. 
To  see  his  country  sick  of  Pym's  disease  ? 
By  Scotch  invasion  to  be  made  a  prey 
To  such  pigwidgeon  myrmidons  as  they  .? 
But  that  'there's  charm  in  verse,'  I  would  not  quote 
The  name  of  Scot  without  an  antidote; 
Unless  my  head  were  red,  that  I  might  brew 
Invention  there  that  might  be  poison  too. 
Were  I  a  drowsy  judge  whose  dismal  note 
Disgorgeth  halters  as  a  juggler's  throat 
Doth  ribbons;  could  I  in  Sir  Empiric's  tone 
Speak  pills  in  praise  and  quack  destruction; 
Or  roar  like  Marshall,  that  Geneva  bull, 
Hell  and  damnation  a  pulpit  full; 
Yet  to  express  a  Scot,  to  play  that  prize. 
Not  all  those  mouth-grenadoes  can  suffice. 
Before  a  Scot  can  properly  be  curst, 
I  must  like  Hocus  swallow  daggers  first. 
128 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Come,  keen  iambics,  with  your  badger's  feet 

And  badger-like  bite  until  your  teeth  do  meet. 

Help,  ye  tart  satirists,  to  imp  my  rage 

With  all  the  scorpions  that  should  whip  this  age. 

Scots  are  like  witches;  do  but  whet  your  pen. 

Scratch  till  the  blood  comes,  the)''ll  not  hurt  you  then. 

Now,  as  the  martyrs  were  enforced  to  take 

The  shape  of  beasts,  like  hypocrites  at  stake 

I'll  bait  my  Scot  so,  yet  not  cheat  your  eyes; 

A  Scot  within  a  beast  is  no  disguise. 

No  more  let  Ireland  brag;  her  harmless  nation 

Fosters  no  venom  since  the  Scot's  plantation: 

Nor  can  our  feigned  antiquity  obtain; 

Since  they  came  in,  England  hath  wolves  again. 

The  Scot  that  kept  the  Tower  might  have  shown, 

Within  the  grate  of  his  own  breast  alone, 

The  leopard  and  the  panther,  and  engrossed 

What  all  those  wild  collegiates  had  cost 

The  honest  high-shoes  in  their  termly  fees; 

First  to  the  savage  lawyer,  next  to  these. 

Nature  herself  doth  Scotchmen  beasts  confess, 

Making  their  country  such  a  wilderness: 

A  land  that  brings  in  question  and  suspense 

God's  omnipresence,  but  that  Charles  came  thence, 

But  that  Montrose  and  Crawford's  loyal  band 

Atoned  their  sin  and  christened  half  the  land. 

Nor  is  it  all  the  nation  hath  these  spots; 

There  is  a  Church  as  well  as  Kirk  of  Scots. 

As  in  a  picture  where  the  squinting  paint 

Shows  fiend  on  this  side,   and  on  that  side  saint. 

He,  that  saw  Hell  in  his  melancholy  dream 

And  in  the  twilight  of  his  fancy's  theme, 

129 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Scared  from  his  sins,  repented  in  a  fright, 
Had  he  viewed  Scotland,  had  turned  proselyte. 
A  land  where  one  may  pray  with  cursed  intent, 
O,  may  they  never  suffer  banishment! 
Had  Cain  been  Scot,  God  would  have  changed  his  doom; 
Not  forced  him  wander  but  confined  him  home! 
Like  Jews  they  spread  and  as  infection  fly, 
As  if  the  Devil  had  ubiquity. 
Hence  'tis  they  live  at  rovers  and  defy 
This  or  that  place,  rags  of  geography. 
They're  citizens  of  the  world;  they're  all  in  all; 
Scotland's  a  nation  epidemical. 
And  yet  they  ramble  not  to  learn  the  mode, 
How  to  be  dressed,  or  how  to  lisp  abroad; 
To  return  knowing  m  the  Spanish  shrug. 
Or  which  of  the  Dutch  states  a  double  jug 
Resembles  most  in  belly  or  in  beard, 
(The  card  by  which  the  marineers  are  steered.) 
No,  the  Scots-errant  fight  and  fight  to  eat. 
Their  ostrich  stomachs  make  their  swords  their  meat. 
Nature  with  Scots  as  tooth-drawers  hath  dealt 
Who  use  to  string  their  teeth  upon  their  belt. 
Yet  wonder  not  at  this  their  happy  choice. 
The  serpent's  fatal  still  to  Paradise. 
Sure,  England  hath  the  hemorrhoids,  and  these 
On  the  north  postern  of  the  patient  seize 
Like  leeches;  thus  they  physically  thirst 
After  our  blood,  but  in  the  cure  shall  burst! 
Let  them  not  think  to  make  us  run  of  the  score 
To  purchase  villanage,  as  once  before 
When  an  act  passed  to  stroke  them  on  the  head. 
Call  them  good  subjects,  buy  them  gingerbread. 
130 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Not  gold,  nor  acts  of  grace,  'tis  steel  must  tame 

The  stubborn  Scot;  a  Prince  that  would  reclaim 

Rebels  by  yielding,  doth  like  him,  or  worse. 

Who  saddled  his  own  back  to  shame  his  horse. 

Was  it  for  this  you  left  your  leaner  soil. 

Thus  to  lard  Israel  with  Egypt's  spoil  ? 

They  are  the  Gospel's  life-guard;  but  for  them. 

The  garrison  of  New  Jerusalem, 

What  would  the  brethern  do  ?     The  Cause!     The  Cause! 

Sack-possets  and  the  fundamental  laws! 

Lord!     What  a  godly  thing  is  want  of  shirts! 

How  a  Scotch  stomach  and  no  meat  converts! 

They  wanted  food  and  raiment,  so  they  took 

Religion  for  their  seamstress  and  their  cook. 

Unmask  them  well;  their  honours  and  estate, 

As  well  as  conscience,  are  sophisticate. 

Shrive  but  their  titles  and  their  moneys  poize, 

A  laird  and  twenty  pence  pronounced  with  noise. 

When  construed,  but  for  a  plain  yeoman  go. 

And  a  good  sober  two-pence  and  well  so. 

Hence  then,  you  proud  imposters;  get  you  gone. 

You  Picts  in  gentry  and  devotion; 

You  scandal  to  the  stock  of  verse,  a  race 

Able  to  bring  the  gibbet  in  disgrace. 

Hyperbolus  by  suffering  did  traduce 

The  ostracism  and  shamed  it  out  of  use. 

The  Indian,  that  Heaven  did  forswear 

Because  he  heard  some  Spaniards  were  there. 

Had  he  but  known  what  Scots  in  Hell  had  been. 

He  would  Erasmus-like  have  hung  between. 

My  Muse  hath  done.     A  voider  for  the  nonce. 

I  wrong  the  Devil  should  I  pick  their  bones; 


THE  BOOK  OF 

That  dish  is  his;  for,  when  the  Scots  decease. 
Hell,  like  their  nation,  feeds  on  barnacles. 
A  Scot,  when  from  the  gallow-tree  got  loose. 
Drops  into  Styx  and  turns  a  Soland  goose. 

/.   Cleveland 


gi.  Sailors  For  My  Money 

/^OUNTRYMEN  of  England,  who  live  at  home  with 
^-^     ease. 

And  little  think  what  dangers  are  incident  o'  th'  Seas: 
Give  ear  unto  the  Sailor  who  unto  you  will  show 
His  case,  his  case:  Howe'er  the  wind  doth  blow. 

He  that  is  a  Sailor  must  have  a  valiant  heart. 
For,  when  he  is  upon  the  sea,  he  is  not  like  to  start; 
But  must  with  noble  courage,  all  dangers  undergo: 
Resolve,  resolve:  Howe'er  the  wind  doth  blow. 

Our  calling  is  laborious  and  subject  to  much  care. 
But  we  must  still  contented  be,  with  what  falls  to  our  share. 
We  must  not  be  faint-hearted,  come  tempest,  rain  or  snow, 
Nor  shrink,  nor  shrink:  Howe'er  the  wind  doth  blow. 

Sometimes  on  Neptune's  bosom  our  ship  is  tost  with  waves, 
And  every  minute  we  expect  the  sea  must  be  our  graves. 
Sometimes  on  high  she  mounteth,  then  falls  again  as  low: 
With  waves,  with  waves:  When  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

Then  with  unfained  prayers,  as  Christian  duty  binds, 
Weturnuntothe  Lord  of  hosts,  with  all  our  hearts  and  minds; 
132 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

To  Him  we  fly  for  succour,  for  He,  we  surely  know. 
Can  save,  can  save:  Howe'er  the  wind  doth  blow. 

Then  He  who  breaks  the  rage,  the  rough  and  blustrous  seas. 
When    His    disciples   were   afraid,   will    straight   the   storm 

appease. 
And  give  us  cause  to  thank,  on  bended  knees  full  low: 
Who  saves,  who  saves:  Howe'er  the  wind  doth  blow. 

Our  enemies  approaching,  when  we  on  sea  espy. 
We  must  resolve  incontinent  to  fight,  although  we  die, 
With  noble  resolution  we  must  oppose  our  foe. 
In  fight,  in  fight:  Howe'er  the  wind  doth  blow. 

And  when  by  God's  assistance,  our  foes  are  put  to  th'  toile 
To  animate  our  courages,  we  all  have  share  o'  the  spoile. 
Our  foes  into  the  ocean  we  back  to  back  do  throw. 
To  sink,  or  swim,  Howe'er  the  wind  doth  blow. 

M.  Parker 

g2.  Song  by  Lady  Happy,  as  a 

Sea-Goddess 

1\  /T  Y  cabinets  are  oyster-shells, 

-^'-*-      In  which  I  keep  my  Orient  pearls: 

And  modest  coral  I  do  wear, 

Which  blushes  when  it  touches  air. 

On  silver  waves  I  sit  and  sing. 
And  then  the  fish  lie  listening: 
Then  resting  on  a  rocky  stone 
I  comb  my  hair  with  fishes  bone: 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  whilst  Apollo  with  his  beams 
Doth  dry  my  hair  from  soaking  streams. 
His  light  doth  glaze  the  water's  face, 
And  make  the  sea  my  looking  glass. 

So  when  I  swim  on  waters  high, 
I  see  myself  as  I  glide  by. 
But  when  the  sun  begins  to  burn, 
I  back  into  my  waters  turn. 

And  dive  unto  the  bottom  low: 
Then  on  my  head  the  waters  flow 
In  curled  waves  and  circles  round, 
And  thus  with  eddies  I  am  crowned. 

M.  Cavendish,  Duclicss  of  Newcastle 

gj.      The  Star   That  Bids   the  Shepherd 

Fold 

From  'Comus' 


""yHE  Star  that  bids  the  Shepherd  fold, 
-*•  Now  the  top  of  Heav'n  doth  hold, 
And  the  gilded  Car  of  Day, 
His  glowing  Axle  doth  allay 
In  the  steep  Ailanttck  stream, 
And  the  slope  Sun  his  upward  beam 
Shoots  against  the  dusky  Pole, 
Pacing  toward  the  other  gole 
Of  his  Chamber  in  the  East. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Mean  while  welcom  Joy,  and  Feast, 

Midnight  shout,  and  revelry, 

Tipsie  dance,  and  Jollity. 

Braid  your  Locks  with  rosie  Twine 

Dropping  odours,  dropping  Wine. 

Rigor  now  is  gon  to  bed. 

And  Advice  with  scrupulous  head, 

Strict  Age,  and  sowre  Severity, 

With  their  grave  Saws  in  slumber  ly. 

We  that  are  of  purer  fire 

Imitate  the  Starry  Quire, 

Who  in  their  nightly  watchfull  Sphears, 

Lead  in  swift  round  the  Months  and  Years. 

The  Sounds,  and  Seas  with  all  their  finny  drove 

Now  to  the  Moon  in  waveting  Morrice  move, 

And  on  the  Tawny  Sands  and  Shelves, 

Trip  the  pert  Fairies  and  the  dapper  Elves; 

By  dimpled  Brook,  and  Fountain  brim, 

The  Wood-Nymphs  deckt  with  Daisies  trim, 

Their  merry  wakes  and  pastimes  keep: 

What  hath  night  to  do  with  sleep  ? 

Night  hath  better  sweets  to  prove, 

Venus  now  wakes,  and  wak'ns  Love. 

Com  let  us  our  rights  begin, 

'  lis  onely  day-light  that  makes  Sin 

Which  these  dun  shades  will  ne're  report. 

Hail  Goddessc  of  Nocturnal  sport 

Dark  vaild  Cotytto,  t'  whom  the  secret  flame 

Of  mid-night  Torches  burns;  mysterious  Dame 

That  ne're  art  call'd,  but  when  the  Dragon  woom 

Of  Stygian  darknes  spets  her  thickest  gloom. 

And  makes  one  blot  of  all  the  ayr. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Stay  thy  cloudy  Ebon  chair, 

Wherin  thou  rid'st  with  Hecat',  and  befriend 

Us  thy  vow'd  Priests,  til  utmost  end 

Of  all  thy  dues  be  done,  and  none  left  out, 

Ere  the  blabbing  Eastern  scout. 

The  nice  Morn  on  th'  Indian  steep 

From  her  cabin'd  loop  hole  peep. 

And  to  the  tel-tale  Sun  discry 

Our  conceal'd  Solemnity. 

Com,  knit  hands,  and  beat  the  ground, 

In  a  light  fantastick  round. 


94.  Song 

OWEET  Echo,  sweetest  Nymph  that  liv'st  unseen 
^^         Within  the  airy  shell 

By  slow  Meander's  margent  green, 
And  in  the  violet  imbroider'd  vale 
Where  the  love-lorn  Nightingale 
Nightly  to  thee  her  sad  Song  mourneth  well. 
Canst  thou  not  tell  me  of  a  gentle  Pair 
That  likest  thy  Narcissus  are .'' 

O  if  thou  have 
Hid  them  in  som  flowry  Cave, 
Tell  me  but  where 
Sweet  Queen  of  Parly,  Daughter  of  the  Sphear, 
So  maist  thou  be  translated  to  the  skies. 

And  give  resounding  grace  to  all  Heav'ns  Harmonies. 
136 


RESTORATION  VERSE 


Song 

OABRINA  fair 

^     Listen  where  thou  art  sitting 

Under  the  glassie,  cool,  translucent  wave, 

In  twisted  braids  of  Lillies  knitting 
The  loose  train  of  thy  amber-droping  hair, 

Listen  for  dear  honour's  sake, 

Goddess  of  the  silver  lake, 

Listen  and  save. 

Listen  and  appear  to  us 

In  name  of  great  Oceaniis, 

By  the  earth-shaking  Neptune's  mace, 

And  Tethys  grave  majestick  pace. 

By  hoary  Ncreus  wrincled  look. 

And  the  Carpathian  wisards  hook, 

By  scaly  Triio?js  winding  shell. 

And  old  sooth-saying  Glaiicus  spell, 

By  Leiicothea's  lovely  hands. 

And  her  son  that  rules  the  strands, 

By  Tliciis  tinsel-slipper'd  feet. 

And  the  Songs  of  Sirens  sweet. 

By  dead  Parthenope's  dear  tomb. 

And  fair  Ligca's  golden  comb, 

Wherwith  she  sits  on  diamond  rocks 

Sleeking  her  soft  alluring  locks, 

By  all  the  Nymphs  that  nightly  dance 

Upon  thy  streams  with  wily  glance. 

Rise,  rise,  and  heave  thy  rosie  head 


THE  BOOK  OF 

From  thy  coral-pav'n  bed, 
And  bridle  in  thy  headlong  wave. 
Till  thou  our  summons  answered  have. 
Listen  and  save. 

Sabrina  rises,  attended  by  water-N ymphes ,  and  sings 

By  the  rushy-fringed  bank, 
Where  grows  the  Willow  and  the  Osier  dank, 

My  sliding  Chariot  stayes. 
Thick  set  with  Agat,  and  the  azurn  sheen 
Of  Turkis  blew,  and  Emrauld  green 

That  in  the  channell  strayes, 
Whilst  from  off"  the  waters  fleet 
Thus  I  set  my  printless  feet 
O're  the  Cowslips  Velvet  head, 

That  bends  not  as  I  tread, 
Gentle  swain  at  thy  request 

I  am  here. 

Spirit.     Goddess  dear 
We  implore  thy  powerful  hand 
To  undo  the  charmed  band 
Of  true  Virgin  here  distrest, 
Through  the  force,  and  through  the  wile 
Of  unblest  inchanter  vile. 
Sabrina.     Shepherd  'tis  my  office  best 
To  help  in  snared  chastity; 
Brightest  Lady  look  on  me, 
Thus  I  sprinkle  on  thy  brest 
Drops  that  from  my  fountain  pure, 
I  have  kept  of  pretious  cure. 
Thrice  upon  thy  fingers  tip 
138 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thrice  upon  thy  rubied  lip, 
Next  this  marble  venom'd  seat 
Smear'd  with  gumms  of  glutenous  heat 
I  touch  with  chaste  palms  moist  and  cold, 
Now  the  spell  hath  lost  his  hold; 
And  I  must  haste  ere  morning  hour 
To  wait  in  Amphttnte's  bovvr. 


g6.  To   the  Ocean  Now  I  Fly 

The  Spirit  Epilogtiises 

''  I  "O  the  Ocean  now  I  flv, 

-*■   And  those  happy  climes  that  ly 
Where  day  never  shuts  his  eye, 
Up  in  the  broad  fields  of  the  sky: 
There  I  suck  the  liquid  ayr 
All  amidst  the  Gardens  fair 
Of  Hesperus,  and  his  daughters  three 
That  sing  about  the  golden  tree: 
Along  the  crisped  shades  and  bowres 
Revels  the  spruce  and  jocond  Spring, 
The  Graces,  and  the  rosie-boosom'd  Howres, 
Thither  all  their  bounties  bring, 
That  there  eternal  Summer  dwels. 
And  West  winds,  with  musky  wing 
About  the  cedar'n  alleys  fling 
Nard,  and  Cassia's  balmy  smels. 
Iris  there  with  humid  bow. 
Waters  the  odorous  banks  that  blow 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Flowers  of  more  mingled  hew 
Then  her  purfl'd  scarf  can  shew, 
And  drenches  with  Elystati  dew 
(List  mortals,  if  your  ears  be  true) 
Beds  of  Hyacinth,  and  roses 
Where  young  Adonis  oft  reposes, 
Waxing  well  of  his  deep  wound 
In  slumber  soft,  and  on  the  ground 
Sadly  sits  th'  Assyrian  Queen; 
But  far  above  in  spangled  sheen 
Celestial  Cupid  her  fam'd  son  advanc't 
Holds  his  dear  Psyche  sweet  intranc't 
After  her  wandring  labours  long, 
Till  free  consent  the  gods  among 
Make  her  his  eternal  Bride, 
And  from  her  fair  unspotted  side 
Two  blissful  twins  are  to  be  born, 
Youth  and  Joy;  so  Jove  hath  sworn. 

But  now  my  task  is  smoothly  don, 
I  can  fly,  or  I  can  run 
Quickly  to  the  green  earths  end. 
Where  the  bow'd  welkin  slow  doth  bend, 
And  from  thence  can  soar  as  soon 
To  the  corners  of  the  Moon. 

Mortals  that  would  follow  me. 
Love  vertue,  she  alone  is  free, 
She  can  teach  ye  how  to  clime 
Higher  then  the  Spheary  chime; 
Or  if  Vertue  feeble  were, 
Heav'n  it  self  would  stoop  to  her. 


J.  Milton 


140 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

gj.  Themis ta  s  Reproof 

T    IKE  a  top  which  runneth  round 
^-^   And  never  winneth  any  ground; 

Or  th'  dying  scion  of  a  vine 

That  rather  breaks  than  it  will  twine; 

Or  th'  sightless  mole  whose  life  is  spent 

Divided  from  her  element; 

Or  plants  removed  from  Tagus'  shore 

Who  never  bloom  nor  blossom  more; 

Or  dark  Cimmerians  who  delight 

In  shady  shroud  of  pitchy  night; 

Or  mopping  apes  who  are  possessed 

Their  cubs  are  ever  prettiest: 

So  he  who  makes  his  own  opinion 

To  be  his  one  and  only  minion, 

Nor  will  incline  in  any  season 

To  th'  weight  of  proof  or  strength  of  reason, 

But  prefers  will  precipitate 

'Fore  judgment  that's  deliberate; 

He  ne'er  shall  lodge  within  my  roof 

Till,  rectified  by  due  reproof, 

He  labours. to  reform  this  ill 

By  giving  way  to  others'  will. 


R.  Brati'.waitr 


gS.  Poets  and   Their   Theft 

A  S  birds  to  hatch  their  young  do  sit  in  spring, 
■^   *•      The  ages  do  their  broods  of  poets  bring. 
Who  to  the  world  in  verse  do  sweetly  sing. 

141 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Their  notes  great  Nature  set,  not  Art  so  taught: 
For  fancies  in  the  brain  by  Nature  wrought 
Are  best:  what  Imitation  makes  are  nought: 

For  though  they  sing  as  well  as  well  may  be, 
And  make  their  notes  of  what  they  learn  agree, 
Yet  he  that  teaches  still  hath  mastery: 

And  ought  to  have  the  crown  of  praise  and  fame. 
In  the  long  roll  of  Time  to  write  his  name — 
And,  those  that  steal  it  out,  but  win  the  blame. 

There's  none  should  places  have  in  Fame's  high  court, 
But  those  who  first  do  win  Invention's  fort, 
Not  messengers — that  only  make  report. 

To  messengers  reward  of  thanks  are  due 

For  their  great  pains  to  bring  their  message  true. 

But  not  the  honour  of  invention  new. 

Many  there  are  that  suits  will  make  to  wear. 
Of  several  patches  stolen  here  and  there, 
That  to  the  world  they  gallants  may  appear. 

And  the  poor  vulgar,  who  but  little  know, 
Do  reverence  all  that  makes  a  glistering  show. 
Examining  not  the  same  how  they  came  to. 

Then  do  they  call  their  friends  and  all  their  kin; 
They  factions  make,  the  ignorant  to  win. 
And  with  their  help  into  Fame's  court  get  in. 

M .  Cavendish,  Duchess  of  Newcastle 
142 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

gg.  The  Author's  Apology  For  His  Book 

(The  Pilgrim's  Progress) 

\  "\  JHEN  at  the  first  I  took  my  pen  in  hand, 
^  ^  Thus  for  to  write;  I  did  not  understand 
That  I  at  all  should  make  a  little  Book 
In  such  a  mode;  Nay,  I  had  undertook 
To  make  another,  which  when  almost  done, 
Before  I  was  aware,  I  this  begun. 

And  thus  it  was:  I  writing  of  the  Way 
And  Race  of  Saints,  in  this  our  Gospel-Day, 
Fell  suddenly  into  an  Allegory 
About  their  Journey,  and  the  way  to  Glory, 
In  more  than  twenty  things,  which  I  set  down; 
This  done,  I  twenty  more  had  in  my  Crown, 
And  they  again  began  to  multiply. 
Like  sparks  that  from  the  coals  of  fire  do  fly. 
Nay  then,  thought  I,  if  that  you  breed  so  fast, 
I'll  put  you  by  yourselves,  lest  you  at  last 
Should  prove  ad  infitiittttn,  and  eat  out 
The  Book  that  I  already  am  about. 

Well,  so  I  did;  but  yet  I  did  not  think 
To  show  to  all  the  World  my  Pen  and  Ink 
In  such  a  mode;  I  only  thought  to  make 
I  knew  not  what:  nor  did  I  undertake 
Thereby  to  please  my  Neighbour;  no  not  I; 
And  did  it  mine  own  self  to  gratify. 

Neither  did  I  but  vacant  seasons  spend 
In  this  my  scribble;  nor  did  I  intend 
But  to  divert  myself  in  doing  this. 
From  worser  thoughts,  which  make  me  do  amiss. 

143 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thus  I  set  Pen  to  Paper  with  dehght, 
And  quickly  had  my  thoughts  in  black  and  white. 
For  having  now  my  Method  by  the  end, 
Still  as  I  pull'd,  it  came;  and  so  I  penn'd 
It  down;  until  at  last  it  came  to  be, 
For  length  and  breadth  the  bigness  which  you  seeo 

Well,  when  I  had  thus  put  mine  ends  together, 
I  shew'd  them  others,  that  I  might  see  whether 
They  would  condemn  them,  or  them  justify: 
And  some  said,  let  them  live;  some,  let  them  die. 
Some  said,  John,  print  it;  others  said,  Not  so: 
Some  said.  It  might  Ac  good;  others  said,  No. 

Now  was  I  in  a  strait,  and  did  not  see 
Which  was  the  best  thing  to  be  done  by  me; 
At  last  I  thought.  Since  you  are  thus  divided, 
I  print  it  will;  and  so  the  case  decided. 

For,  thought  I,  Some  I  see,  would  have  it  done. 
Though  others  in  that  Channel  do  not  run; 
To  prove  then  who  advised  for  the  best. 
Thus  I  thought  fit  to  put  it  to  the  test. 

I  further  thought,  if  now  I  did  deny 
Those  that  would  have  it  thus,  to  gratify, 
I  did  not  know  but  hinder  them  I  might 
Of  that  which  would  to  them  be  great  delight. 

For  those  which  were  not  for  its  coming  foith, 
I  said  to  them.  Offend  you  I  am  loth; 
Yet  since  your  Brethern  pleased  with  it  be, 
Forbear  to  judge,  till  you  do  further  see. 

If  that  thou  wilt  not  read,  let  it  alone; 
Some  love  the  meat,  some  love  to  pick  the  bone: 
Yea,  that  I  might  them  better  palliate, 
I  did  too  with  them  thus  expostulate. 
144 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

May  I  not  write  in  such  a  style  as  this  ? 
In  such  a  method  too,  and  yet  not  miss 
Mine  end,  thy  good  ?  why  may  it  not  be  done  ? 
Dark  Clouds  bring  Waters,  when  the  bright  bring  none; 
Yea,  dark,  or  bright,  if  they  their  Silver  drops 
Cause  to  descend,  the  Earth,  by  yielding  Crops, 
Gives  praise  to  both,  and  carpeth  not  at  either. 
But  treasures  up  the  Fruit  they  yield  together: 
Yea,  so  commixes  both,  that  in  her  Fruit 
None  can  distinguish  this  from  that,  they  suit 
Her  well,  when  hungry:  but  if  she  be  full, 
She  spues  out  both,  and  makes  their  blessings  null. 

You  see  the  ways  the  Fisherman  doth  take 
To  catch  the  Fish;  what  Engins  doth  he  make? 
Behold  how  he  engageth  all  his  Wits, 
Also  his  Snares,  Lines,  Angles,  Hooks,  and  Nets. 
Yet  Fish  there  be,  that  neither  Hook  nor  Line, 
Nor  Snare,  nor  Net,  nor  Engine  can  make  thine. 
They  must  be  grop't  for,  and  be  tickled  too. 
Or  they  will  not  be  catcht,  what  ere  you  do. 

How  doth  the  Fowler  seek  to  catch  his  Game, 
By  divers  means,  all  which  one  cannot  name .'' 
His  Gun,  his  Nets,  his  Limetwigs,  light,  and  bell: 
He  creeps,  he  goes,  he  stands;  yea  who  can  tell 
Of  all  his  postures,  Yet  there's  none  of  these 
Will  make  him  master  what  Fowls  he  please. 
Yea,  he  must  Pipe,  and  Whistle  to  catch  this; 
Yet  if  he  does  so,  that  Bird  he  will  miss. 

If  that  a  Pearl,  may  in  a  Toads-head  dwell, 
And  may  be  found  too  in  an  Oystershell; 
If  things  that  promise  nothing,  do  contain 
What  better  is  than  Gold;  who  will  disdain. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

(That  have  an  inkhng  of  it,)  there  to  look, 
That  they  may  find  it.     Now  my  little  Book, 
(Tho'  void  of  all  those  paintings  that  may  make 
It  with  this  or  the  other  Man  to  take,) 
Is  not  without  those  things  that  do  excel 
What  do  in  brave,  but  empty  notions  dwell. 

Well,  yet  I  am  not  fully  satisfied. 
That  this  your  Book  will  stand  when  soundly  try'd; 

Why,  what's  the  matter!  it  is  dark,  what  tho? 
But  it  is  feigned.     What  of  that  I  tro  ? 
Some  men  by  feigning  words  as  dark  as  mine, 
Make  truth  to  spangle,  and  its  rays  to  shine. 
But  they  want  solidness:  Speak  man  thy  mind, 
They  drown'd  the  weak;  Metaphors  make  us  blind. 

Solidity,  indeed  becomes  the  Pen 
Of  him  that  writeth  things  Divine  to  men: 
But  must  I  needs  want  solidness,  because 
By  Metaphors  I  speak;  Was  not  Gods  Laws, 
His  Gospel-Laws,  in  older  time  held  forth 
By  Types,  Shadows  and  Metaphors  ?     Yet  loth 
Will  any  sober  man  be  to  find  fault 
With  them,  lest  he  be  found  for  to  assault 
The  highest  Wisdom.     No,  he  rather  stoops. 
And  seeks  to  find  out  what  by  pins  and  loops. 
By  Calves,  and  Sheep,  by  Heifers,  and  by  Rams; 
By  Birds,  and  Herbs,  and  by  the  blood  of  Lambs, 
God  speaketh  to  him.     And  happy  is  he 
That  finds  the  light,  and  grace  that  in  them  be. 

Be  not  to  forward  therefore  to  conclude. 
That  I  want  solidness,  that  I  am  rude: 
All  things  solid  in  shew,  not  solid  be; 
All  things  in  parables  despise  not  we, 
146 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Lest  things  most  hurtful  lightly  we  receive, 
And  things  that  good  are,  of  our  souls  bereave. 

My  dark  and  cloudy  words  they  do  but  hold 
The  Truth,  as  Cabinets  inclose  the  Gold. 

The  Prophets  used  much  by  Metaphors 
To  set  forth  Truth;  Yea,  who  so  considers 
Christ,  his  Apostles  too,  shall  plainly  see, 
That  Truths  to  this  day  in  such  Mantles  be. 

Am  I  afraid  to  say  that  holy  Writ, 
Which  for  its  Stile,  and  Phrase  puts  down  all  Wit, 
Is  every  where  so  full  of  all  these  things, 
(Dark  Figures,  Allegories,)  yet  there  springs 
From  that  same  Book  that  lustre,  and  those  rays 
Of  light,  that  turns  our  darkest  nights  to  days. 

Come,  let  my  Carper  to  his  Life  now  look, 
And  find  There  darker  lines  than  in  my  Book 
He  findeth  any.     Yea,  and  let  him  know. 
That  in  his  best  things  there  are  worse  lines  too. 

May  we  but  stand  before  impartial  men, 
To  his  poor  One,  I  durst  adventure  Ten, 
That  they  will  take  my  meaning  in  these  lines 
Far  better  than  his  Lies  in  Silver  Shrines. 
Come,  Truth,  although  in  Swadling-clouts,  I  find 
Informs  the  Judgment,  rectifies  the  Mind, 
Pleases  the  Understanding,  makes  the  Will 
Submit;  the  Memory  too  it  doth  fill 
With  what  doth  our  Imagination  please; 
Likewise,  it  tends  our  troubles  to  appease. 

Sound  words  I  know  Timothy  is  to  use, 
And  old  Wives  Fables  he  is  to  refuse; 
But  yet  grave  Paul,  him  no  where  doth  forbid 
The  use  of  Parables;  in  which  lay  hid 


THE  BOOK  OF 

That  Gold,  those  Pearls,  and  precious  stones  that  were 
Worth  digging  for;  and  that  with  greatest  care. 
Let  me  add  one  word  more,  O  man  of  God! 
Art  thou  offended  ?  dost  thou  wish  I  had 
Put  forth  my  matter  in  another  dress, 
Or  that  I  had  in  things  been  more  express  ? 
Three  things  let  me  propound,  then  I  submit 
To  those  that  are  my  betters,  as  is  fit. 

1.  I  find  not  that  I  am  denied  the  use 
Of  this  my  method,  so  I  no  abuse 

Put  on  the  Words,  Things,  Readers,  or  be  rude 
In  handling  Figure,  or  Similitude, 
In  application;  but,  all  that  I  may, 
Seek  the  advance  of  Truth,  this  or  that  way: 
Denied,  did  I  say  .?     Nay,  I  have  leave, 
(Example  too,  and  that  from  them  that  have 
God  better  pleased  by  their  words  or  ways, 
Than  any  man  that  breatheth  now  a-days,) 
Thus  to  express  my  mind,  thus  to  declare 
Things  unto  thee,  that  excellentest  are. 

2.  I  find  that  men  (as  high  as  Trees)  will  write 
Dialogue-wise;  yet  no  man  doth  them  slight 

For  writing  so:     Indeed  if  they  abuse 
Truth,  cursed  be  thev,  and,  the  craft  they  use 
To  that  intent;   But  yet  let  Truth  be  free 
To  make  her  Sallies  upon  Thee,  and  Me, 
Which  way  it  pleases  God.     For  who  knows  how, 
Better  than  he  that  taught  us  first  to  Plough, 
To  guide  our  Mind  and  Pens  for  his  Design  ? 
And  he  makes  base  things  usher  in  Divine. 

3.  I  find  that  holy  Writ  in  many  places. 

Hath  semblance  with  this  method,  where  the  cases 
148 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Doth  call  for  one  thing,  to  set  forth  another: 

Use  it  I  may  then,  and  yet  nothing  smother 

Truths  golden  Beams;  Nay,  by  this  method  may 

Make  it  cast  forth  its  rays  as  light  as  day. 

And  now,  before  I  do  put  up  my  Pen, 

I'll  shew  the  profit  of  my  Book,  and  then 

Commit  both  thee,  and  it  unto  that  hand 

That  pulls  the  strong  down,  and  makes  weak  ones  stand. 

This  Book  it  chalketh  out  before  thine  eyes 
The  man  that  seeks  the  everlasting  Prize: 
It  shews  j-ou  whence  he  comes,  whither  he  goes. 
What  he  leaves  undone;  also  what  he  does: 
It  also  shews  you  how  he  runs  and  runs. 
Till  he  unto  the  Gate  of  Glory  comes. 

It  shews  too,  who  sets  out  for  life  amain. 
As  if  the  lasting  Crown  they  should  attain: 
Here  also  you  may  see  the  reason  why 
They  lose  their  labour,  and  like  Fools  do  die. 

This  Book  will  make  a  Traveller  of  thee. 
If  by  its  Counsel  thou  wilt  ruled  be; 
It  will  direct  thee  to  the  Holy  Land, 
If  thou  wilt  its  Directions  understand: 
Yea,  it  will  make  the  slothful,  active  be; 
The  Blind  also,  delightful  things  to  see. 

Art  thou  for  something  rare,  and  profitable .'' 
Wouldest  thou  see  a  Truth  within  a  Fable  .'' 
Art  thou  forgetful  ^  wouldest  thou  remember 
From  New-year's-day  to  the  last  of  December  .? 
Then  read  my  fancies,  they  will  stick  like  Burs, 
And  may  be  to  the  Helpless,  Comforters. 

This  Book  is  writ  in  such  a  Dialect, 
As  may  the  minds  of  listless  men  affect: 

149 


THE  BOOK  OF 

It  seems  a  Novelty,  and  yet  contains 
Nothing  but  sound,  and  honest  Gospel-strains. 

Would'st  thou  divert  thyself  from  Melancholy  ? 
Would'st  thou  be  pleasant,  yet  be  far  from  folly  ? 
Would'st  thou  read  Riddles,  and  their  Explanation  ? 
Or  else  be  drowned  in  thy  Contemplation  ? 
Dost  thou  love  picking  meat  ?  Or  wouldst  thou  see 
A  man  i'  th'  Clouds,  and  hear  him  speak  to  thee  ? 
Would'st  thou  be  in  a  Dream,  and  yet  not  sleep  ? 
Or  would'st  thou  in  a  moment  laugh,  and  weep  ? 
Wouldest  thou  lose  thyself,  and  catch  no  harm  ? 
And  find  thyself  again  without  a  charm  ? 
Would'st  read  thyself,  and  read  thou  know'st  not  what 
And  yet  know  whether  thou  art  blest  or  not. 
By  reading  the  same  lines  ?  O  then  come  hither, 
And  lay  my  Book,  thy  Head,  and  Heart  together. 

J.  Bunyan 


100.  An  Epilogue 

OIR  Charles  into  my  chamber  coming  in, 
^  When  I  was  writing  of  my  'Fairy  Queen'; 
'I  pray' — said  he — 'when  Queen  Mab  you  do  see 
Present  my  service  to  her  Majesty: 
And  tell  her  I  have  heard  Fame's  loud  report 
Both  of  her  beauty  and  her  stately  court.' 
When  I  Queen  Mab  within  my  fancy  viewed, 
My  thoughts  bowed  low,  fearing  I  should  be  rude; 
Kissing  her  garment  thin  which  fancy  made, 
I  knelt  upon  a  thought,  like  one  that  prayed; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  then,  in  whispers  soft,  I  did  present 
His  humble  service  which  in  mirth  was  sent; 
Thus  by  imagination  I  have  been 
In  Fairy  court  and  seen  the  Fairy  Queen. 

M.  Cavendish,  Duchess  of  Newcastle 

1 01.  Drinking 

(Anacreontiques) 

'T'"*HE  thirsty  earth  soaks  up  the  rain, 
-■-  And  drinks,  and  gapes  for  drink  again. 
The  plants  suck  in  the  earth,  and  are 
With  constant  drinking  fresh  and  fair. 
The  sea  itself,  which  one  would  think 
Should  have  but  little  need  of  drink. 
Drinks  twice  ten  thousand  rivers  up, 
So  fiU'd  that  they  o'erflow  the  cup. 
The  busy  sun  (and  one  would  guess 
By  's  drunken  fiery  face  no  less) 
Drinks  up  the  sea,  and,  when  he's  done, 
The  moon  and  stars  drink  up  the  sun. 
They  drink  and  dance  by  their  own  light, 
They  drink  and  revel  all  the  night. 
Nothing  in  Nature's  sober  found, 
But  an  eternal  health  goes  round. 
Fill  up  the  bowl  then,  fill  it  high. 
Fill  all  the  glasses  there,  for  why 
Should  every  creature  drink  but  I, 
Why,  man  of  morals,  tell  me  why  ? 

A.  Cowh'y 


THE  BOOK  OF 

102.  The  Epicure 

(Anacreontiques) 

L^ILL  the  bowl  with  rosy  wine, 

-*-        Around  our  temples  roses  twine. 

And  let  us  cheerfully  awhile, 

Like  the  wine  and  roses,  smile. 

Crown 'd  with  roses  we  contemn 

Gyges'  wealthy  diadem. 

To-day  is  ours;  what  do  we  fear .? 

To-day  is  ours;  we  have  it  here. 

Let's  treat  it  kindly,  that  it  may 

Wish,  at  least,  with  us  to  stay. 

Let's  banish  business,  banish  sorrow; 

To  the  gods  belongs  tomorrow. 

/oj.  Another 

T   TNDERNEATH  this  myrtle  shade, 
^-^      On  flowery  beds  supinely  laid. 
With  odorous  oils  my  head  o'erflowing. 
And  around  it  roses  growing, 
What  should  I  do  but  drink  away 
The  heat,  and  troubles  of  the  day  .'' 
Li  this  more  than  kingly  state, 
Love  himself  shall  on  me  wait. 
Fill  to  me.  Love,  nay  fill  it  up; 
And  mingled  cast  into  the  cup, 
W'it,  and  mirth,  and  noble  fires. 
Vigorous  health,  and  gay  desires. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  wheel  of  life  no  less  will  stay 
In  a  smooth  then  rugged  way. 
Since  it  equally  does  flee, 
Let  the  motion  pleasant  be. 
Why  do  precious  ointments  shower, 
Nobler  wines  why  do  we  pour, 
Beauteous  flowers  why  do  we  spread, 
Upon  the  monuments  of  the  dead  ? 
Nothing  they  but  dust  can  show, 
Or  bones  that  hasten  to  be  so. 
Crown  me  with  roses  whilst  I  live, 
Now  your  wines  and  ointments  give. 
After  death  I  nothing  crave. 
Let  me  alive  my  pleasures  have, 
All  are  Stoics  in  the  grave. 

A.  C ovule 

The  Excellency   of  [Vine 

*"  I  ^IS  wine  that  inspires, 
■*-       And  quencheth  Love's  fires; 
Teaches  fools  how  to  rule  a  state. 
Maids  ne'er  did  approve  it; 
Because  those  that  love  it. 
Despise,  and  laugh  at,  their  hate. 

The  drinkers  of  beer 

Did  ne'er  yet  appear 
In  matters  of  any  weight; 

'Tis  he  whose  design 

Is  quickened  by  wine. 
That  raises  things  to  their  height. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

We  then  should  it  prize; 

For  never  black  eyes 
Made  wounds,  which  this  could  not  heal. 

Who  then  doth  refuse 

To  drink  of  this  juice. 
Is  a  foe  to  the  common  weal. 

R.  Boyle,  Earl  of  Orrery 


10^.  The  Healths 

OOME,  faith,  since  I'm  parting,  and  that  God  knows 
^^     when 

The  walls  of  sweet  Wickham  I  shall  see  again; 
Let's  e'en  have  a  frolic,  and  drink  like  tall  men, 
Till  heads  with  healths  go  round. 

And  first  to  Sir  William,  I'll  take  't  on  my  knee 
He  well  doth  deserve  that  a  brimmer  it  be: 
More  brave  entertainments  none  ere  gave  than  he; 
Then  let  his  health  go  round. 

Next  to  his  chaste  lady,  who  loves  him  alife; 
And  whilst  we  are  drinking  to  so  good  a  wife, 
The  poor  of  the  parish  will  pray  for  her  life; 
Be  sure  her  health  go  round. 

And  then  to  young  Will,  the  heir  of  this  place; 
He'll  make  a  brave  man,  you  may  see't  in  his  face; 
I  only  could  wish  we  had  more  of  the  race; 
At  least  let  his  health  go  round. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

To  well-graced  Victoria  the  next  room  we  owe; 
As  virtuous  she'll  prove  as  her  mother,  I  trow, 
And  somewhat  in  housewifery  more  she  will  know; 
O  let  her  health  go  round!  • 

To  plump  Bess,  her  sister,  I  drink  down  this  cup; 
Birlackins  (my  masters)  each  man  must  take't  up; 
'Tis  foul  play  (I  bar  it)  to  simper  and  sup, 
When  such  a  health  goes  round. 

And  now  helter-skelter  to  th'  rest  of  the  house, 
The  most  are  good  fellows,  and  love  to  carouse; 
Who's  not,  may  go  sneak-up;  he's  not  worth  a  louse. 
That  stops  a  health  i'  th'  round. 

To  th'  clerk,  so  he'll  learn  to  drink  in  the  morn; 
To  Heynous,  that  stares  when  he  has  quaft  up  his  horn; 
To  Philip,  by  whom  good  ale  ne'er  was  forlorn; 
These  lads  can  drink  a  round. 

John  Chandler!  come  on,  here's  some  warm  beer  for  you; 
A  health  to  the  man  that  this  liquor  did  brew; 
Why,  Hewet!  there's  for  thee;  nay,  take't,  'tis  thy  due. 
But  see  that  it  go  round. 

Hot  Coles  is  on  fire,  and  fain  would  be  quench'd; 
As  well  as  his  horses  the  groom  must  be  drench'd; 
Who's  else  ?  let  him  speak,  if  his  thirst  he'd  have  stench'd 
Or  have  his  health  go  round. 

And  now  to  the  women,  who  must  not  be  coy. 
A  glass.  Mistress  Cary,  you  know's  but  a  toy; 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Come,  come,  Mistress  Sculler,  no  pardonnez  moy, 
It  must,  it  must  go  round. 

Dame  Nell,  so  you'll  drink,  we'll  allow  you  a  sop. 
Up  with't,  Mary  Smith;  in  your  draught  never  stop. 
Law!  there  now,  Nan  German  has  left  ne'er  a  drop, 
And  so  must  all  the  round. 

Jane,  Joan,  Goody  Lee,  great  Meg,  and  the  less. 
Ye  must  not  be  squeamish,  but  do  as  did  Bess: 
How  th'  others  are  named,  If  I  could  but  guess, 
I'd  call  them  to  the  round. 

And  now,  for  my  farewell,  I  drink  up  this  quart; 
To  you,  lads  and  lasses,  e'en  with  all  my  heart: 
May  I  find  ye  ever,  as  now  when  we  part. 
Each  health  still  going  round. 


P.  Cc 


1 06.  Loyalty   Confined 


T3EAT  on,  proud  billows;   Boreas,  blow; 
^-^     Swell,  curled  waves,  high  as  Jove's  roof; 
Your  incivility  doth  show 

That  innocence  is  tempest-proof: 
Though  surly  Nereus  frown,  my  thoughts  are  calm; 
Then  strike.  Affliction,  for  thy  wounds  are  balm. 

That  which  the  world  miscalls  a  jail, 

A  private  closet  is  to  me. 
Whilst  a  good  conscience  is  my  bail. 

And  innocence  mv  liberty: 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Locks,  bars,  and  solitude  together  met. 
Make  me  no  prisoner,  but  an  anchoret. 

I,  whilst  I  wished  to  be  retried, 

Into  this  private  room  was  turned; 
As  if  their  wisdom  had  conspired 
The  salamander  should  be  burned; 
Or  like  a  sophy  that  would  drown  a  fish, 
I  am  constrained  to  suffer  what  I  wish. 

The  cynic  loves  his  poverty; 

The  pelican  her  wilderness; 

And  'tis  the  Indian's  pride  to  be 

Naked  on  frozen  Caucasus: 

Contentment  cannot  smart;  stoics  we  see 

Make  torments  easy  to  their  apathy. 

These  manacles  upon  my  arm 

I,  as  my  mistress'  favours,  wear; 
And  for  to  keep  my  ancles,  warm, 
I  have  some  iron  shackles  there: 
These  walls  are  but  my  garrison;  this  cell. 
Which  men  call  jail,  doth  prove  my  citadel. 

I'm  in  the  cabinet  locked  up. 

Like  some  high-prized  margarite, 
Or  like  the  great  Mogul  or  Pope, 
Am  cloistered  up  from  public  sight: 
Retiredness  is  a  piece  of  majesty. 
And  thus,  proud  sultan,  I'm  as  great  as  thee. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Here  sin  for  want  ot  food  must  starve, 
Where  tempting  objects  are  not  seen; 
And  these  strong  walls  do  only  serve 
To  keep  vice  out,  and  keep  me  in: 
Malice  of  late's  grown  charitable,  sure, 
I'm  not  committed,  but  am  kept  secure. 

So  he  that  struck  at  Jason's  life, 

Thinking  to'  have  made  his  purpose  sure. 
By  a  malicious  friendly  knife 
Did  only  wound  him  to  a  cure: 
Malice,  I  see,  wants  wit;  tor  what  is  meant 
Mischief,  ofttimes  proves  favour  by  the  event. 

When  once  my  Prince  affliction  hath, 

Prosperity  doth  treason  seem; 
And  for  to  smooth  so  rough  a  path, 
I  can  learn  patience  from  him: 
Now  not  to  suffer  shows  no  loyal  heart. 
When  kmgs  want  ease,  subjects  must  bear  a  part. 

What  though  I  cannot  see  my  King, 

Neither  in  person  nor  in  coin; 
Yet  contemplation  is  a  thing 

That  renders  what  I  have  not,  mine: 
My  King  from  me  what  adamant  can  part, 
Whom  I  do  wear  engraven  on  my  heart  ^ 

Have  you  not  seen  the  nightingale, 

A  pilgrim  coopt  into  a  cage, 
How  doth  she  chaunt  her  wonted  tale 

In  that  her  narrow  hermitage  ? 
158 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Even  there  her  charming  melody  doth  prove 
That  all  her  bars  are  trees,  her  cage  a  grove. 

.  I  am  that  bird,  whom  they  combine 
Thus  to  deprive  of  liberty; 
But  though  they  do  my  corps  confine. 
Yet,  maugre  hate,  my  soul  is  free: 
And  though  immured,  yet  can  I  chirp  and  sing 
Disgrace  to  rebels,  glory  to  my  King. 

My  soul  is  free  as  ambient  air. 

Although  my  baser  part's  immewed. 
Whilst  loyal  thoughts  do  still  repair 
To'  accompany  my  solitude: 
Although  rebellion  do  my  body  bind. 
My  King  alone  can  captivate  my  mind. 

Sir  R.  L' Estra?ige 


loj.      Lord  Strafford's  Meditations  in 
The    Tower 

/"""*  O  empty  joys, 

^-^      With  all  your  noise, 

And  leave  me  here  alone. 

In  sad,  sweet  silence  to  bemoan 

The  fickle  worldly  height 

Whose  danger  none  can  see  aright, 

Whilst  your  false  splendours  dim  the  sight. 

Go,  and  ensnare 
With  your  trim  ware 

159 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Some  other  worldly  wight, 

And  cheat  him  with  your  flattering  light; 

Rain  on  his  head  a  shower 

Of  honour,  greatness,  wealth,  and  power; 

Then  snatch  it  from  him  in  an  hour. 

Fill  his  big  mind 

With  gallant  wind 

Of  insolent  applause; 

Let  him  not  fear  the  curbing  laws, 

Nor  king,  nor  people's  frown; 

But  dream  of  something  like  a  crown, 

Then,  climbing  upwards,  tumble  down. 

Let  him  appear 

In  his  bright  sphere 

Like  Cynthia  in  her  pride, 

With  starlike  troops  on  every  side; 

For  number  and  clear  light 

Such  as  may  soon  o'erwhelm  him  quite, 

And  blend  them  both  in  one  dead  night. 

Welcome,  sad  night, 

Grief's  sole  delight, 

Thy  mourning  best  agrees 

With  honour's  funeral  obsequies! 

In  Thetis'  lap  he  lies, 

Mantled  with  soft  securities. 

Whose  too  much  sunshine  dims  his  eyes. 

Was  he  too  bold. 
Who  needs  would  hold 
1 60 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

With  curbing  reins  the  Day, 
And  make  Sol's  fiery  steeds  obey  ? 
Therefore  as  rash  was  I 
Who  with  Ambition's  wings  did  fly 
In  Charles's  Wain  too  loftily. 

I  fall,  I  fall! 

Whom  shall  I  call  ? 

Alas!  shall  I  be  heard, 

Who  now  is  neither  loved  nor  feared  ? 

You,  who  have  vowed  the  ground 

To  kiss,  where  my  blest  steps  were  found. 

Come,  catch  me  at  my  last  rebound. 

How  each  admires 
Heaven's  twinkling  fires, 
Whilst  from  their  glorious  seat 
Their  influence  gives  light  and  heat; 
But  oh!  how  few  there  are, 
Though  danger  from  the  act  be  far, 
Will  run  to  catch  a  falling  star! 

Now  'tis  too  late 

To  imitate 

Those  lights,  whose  pallidness 

Argues  no  inward  guiltiness; 

Their  course  one  way  is  bent; 

Which  is  the  cause  there's  no  dissent 

In  Heaven's  High  Court  of  Parliament. 

yinon. 

i6i 


THE  BOOK  OF 

1 08.  A  Royal  Lamentation 

f~^  REAT  Monarch  of  theworld,fiom  whose  power  springs 
^-^  The  potency  and  power  of  earthly  kings, 
Record  the  royal  woe  my  suffering  sings. 


Nature  and  law  by  thy  divine  decree 
(The  only  root  of  righteous  royalty), 
With  this  dim  diadem  invested  me: 


With  it  the  sacred  sceptre,  purple  robe, 
The  holy  unction,  and  the  royal  globe; 
Yet  am  I  levelled  with  the  life  of  Job. 

The  fiercest  furies,  that  do  daily  tread 
Upon  my  grief,  my  grey  discrowned  head. 
Are  they  that  owe  my  bounty  for  their  bread. 

With  my  own  power  my  majesty  they  wound, 

In  the  King's  name  the  King's  himself  uncrowned; 

So  doth  the  dust  destroy  the  diamond. 

They  promise  to  erect  my  royal  stem. 

To  make  me  great,  t'  advance  my  diadem. 

If  I  will  first  fall  down,  and  worship  them. 

My  life  they  prize  at  such  a  slender  rate, 
That  in  my  absence  they  draw  bills  of  hate, 
To  prove  the  King  a  traitor  to  the  State. 
162 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Felons  obtain  more  privilege  than  I; 
They  are  allowed  to  answer  ere  they  die: 
'TIs  death  for  me  to  ask  the  reason  why. 

But,  sacred  Saviour,  with  thy  words  I  woo 

Thee  to  forgive,  and  not  be  bitter  to 

Such  as  Thou  know'st  do  not  know  what  they  do. 

Augment  my  patience,  nullify  my  hate, 

Preserve  my  Issue,  and  Inspire  my  mate; 

Yet,  though  we  perish,  bless  this  Church  and  State. 

King  Charles  I. 


log.  U  Allegro 

TT  ENCE  loathed  Melancholy 

^   *■      Of  Cerberus,  and  blackest  midnight  born, 

In  Stygian  Cave  forlorn 

'Mongst  horrid  shapes,  and  shrelks,  and  sights  unholy. 
Find  out  som  uncouth  cell, 

Where  brooding  darkness  spreads  his  jealous  wings. 
And  the  night-Raven  sings; 

There  under  Ebon  shades,  and  low-brow'd  Rocks, 
As  ragged  a»  thy  Locks, 

In  dark  Cimmerian  desert  ever  dwell. 
But  com  thou  Goddes  fair  and  free. 
In  Heav'n  ycleap'd  Euphrosyne, 
And  by  men,  heart-easing  Mirth, 
Whom  lovely  Venus  at  a  birth 
With  two  sister  Graces  more 
To  Ivy-crowned  Bacchus  bore; 

163 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Or  whether  (as  som  Sager  sing) 
The  frolick  Wind  that  breathes  the  Spring, 
Zephir  with  Aurora  playing, 
As  he  met  her  once  a  Maying, 
There  on  Beds  of  Violets  blew, 
And  fresh-blown  Roses  washt  in  dew, 
Fill'd  her  with  thee  a  daughter  fair. 
So  bucksom,  blith,  and  debonair. 
Haste  thee  nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest  and  youthful  Jollity, 
Quips  and  Cranks,  and  wanton  Wiles, 
Nods,  and  Becks,  and  Wreathed  Smiles, 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek, 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek. 
Sport  that  wrincled  Care  derides. 
And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides. 
Com,  and  trip  it  as  ye  go 
On  the  light  fantastick  toe, 
And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee. 
The  Mountain  Nymph,  sweet  Liberty; 
And  if  I  give  thee  honour  due. 
Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crue 
To  live  with  her,  and  live  with  thee, 
In  unreproved  pleasures  free; 
To  hear  the  Lark  begin  his  flight. 
And  singing  startle  the  dull  night. 
From  his  watch-towre  in  the  skies. 
Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise; 
Then  to  com  in  spight  of  sorrow, 
And  at  my  window  bid  good  morrow. 
Through  the  Sweet-Briar,  or  the  Vine, 
Or  the  twisted  Eglantine. 
164 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

While  the  Cock  with  Hvely  din, 
Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin, 
And  to  the  stack,  or  the  Barn  dore. 
Stoutly  struts  his  Dames  before, 
Oft  list'ning  how  the  Hounds  and  horn 
Chearly  rouse  the  slumbring  morn, 
From  the  side  of  som  Hoar  Hill, 
Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill, 
Som  time  walking  not  unseen 
By  Hedge-row  Elms,  on  Hillocks  green. 
Right  against  the  Eastern  gate, 
Wher  the  great  Sun  begins  his  state, 
Rob'd  in  flames,  and  Amber  light. 
The  clouds  in  thousand  Liveries  dight. 
While  the  Plowman  neer  at  hand, 
Whistles  ore  the  Furrow'd  Land, 
And  the  Milkmaid  singeth  blithe. 
And  the  Mower  whets  his  sithe, 
And  every  Shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  Hawthorn  in  the  dale. 
Streit  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures 
Whilst  the  Lantskip  round  it  measures. 
Russet  Lawns,  and  Fallows  Gray, 
Where  the  nibling  flocks  do  stray. 
Mountains  on  whose  barren  brest 
The  labouring  clouds  do  often  rest: 
Meadows  trim  with  Daisies  pide, 
Shallow  Brooks,  and  Rivers  wide. 
Towers,  and  Battlements  it  sees 
Boosom'd  high  in  tufted  Trees, 
Wher  perhaps  som  beauty  lies. 
The  Cynosure  of  neighbouring  eyes. 


I6S 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Hard  by,  a  Cottage  chimney  smokes, 
From  betwixt  two  aged  Okes, 
Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis  met, 
Are  at  their  savory  dinner  set 
Of  Hearbs,  and  other  Country  Messes, 
Which  the  neat-handed  Phillis  dresses; 
And  then  in  haste  her  Bowre  she  leaves, 
With  Thestylis  to  bind  the  Sheaves; 
Or  if  the  earHer  season  lead 
To  the  tann'd  Haycock  in  the  Mead, 
Som  times  with  secure  delight 
The  up-land  Hamlets  will  invite, 
When  the  merry  Bells  ring  round. 
And  the  jocond  rebecks  sound 
To  many  a  youth,  and  many  a  maid, 
Dancing  in  the  Chequer'd  shade; 
And  young  and  old  com  forth  to  play 
On  a  Sunshine  Holyday, 
Till  the  live-long  day-light  fail, 
Then  to  the  Spicy  Nut-brown  Ale, 
With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat. 
How  Faery  Mab  the  junkets  eat. 
She  was  pincht,  and  pull'd  she  sed. 
And  he  by  Friars  Lanthorn  led 
Tells  how  the  drudging  Goblin  swet, 
To  em  his  Cream-bowie  duly  set. 
When  in  one  night,  ere  glimps  of  morn, 
His  shadowy  Flale  hath  thresh'd  the  Corn 
That  ten  day-labourers  could  not  end, 
Then  lies  him  down  the  Lubbar  Fend. 
And  stretch'd  out  all  the  Chimney's  length. 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength; 
1 66 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  Crop-full  out  of  dores  he  flings, 

Ere  the  first  Cock  his  Mattin  rings. 

Thus  don  the  Tales,  to  bed  they  creep, 

By  whispering  Windes  soon  luH'd  asleep. 

Towred  Cities  please  us  then, 

And  the  busie  humm  of  men. 

Where  throngs  of  Knights  and  Barons  bold. 

In  weeds  of  Peace  high  triumphs  hold, 

With  store  of  Ladies,  whose  bright  eies 

Rain  influence,  and  judge  the  prise 

Of  Wit,  or  Arms,  while  both  contend 

To  win  her  Grace,  whom  all  commend 

There  let  Hymen  oft  appear 

In  Saffron  robe,  with  Taper  clear. 

And  pomp,  and  feast,  and  revelry. 

With  mask,  and  antique  Pageantry, 

Such  sights  as  youthfull  Poets  dream 

On  Summer  eeves  by  haunted  stream. 

Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon. 

If  Jonsons  learned  Sock  be  on. 

Or  sweetest  Shakespear  fancies  childe. 

Warble  his  native  Wood-notes  wilde. 

And  ever  against  eating  Cares, 

Lap  me  in  soft  LyJian  Aires, 

Married  to  immortal  verse 

Such  as  the  meeting  soul  may  pierce 

In  notes,  with  many  a  winding  bout 

Of  lincked  sweetnes  long  drawn  out. 

With  wanton  heed,  and  giddy  cunning. 

The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running: 

Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  ty 

The  hidden  soul  of  harmony. 

167 


THE  BOOK  OF 

That  Orpheus  self  may  heave  his  head 
From  golden  slumber  on  a  bed 
Of  heapt  Elystan  flowres,  and  hear 
Such  streins  as  would  have  won  the  ear 
Of  Pluto,  to  have  quite  set  free 
His  half  regain'd  Eiirydice. 
These  delights,  if  thou  canst  give, 
Mirth  with  thee,  I  mean  to  live. 


/.  Milton 


1 10.  II  Penseroso 

T  T  ENCE  vain  deluding  joyes, 

■*-  -*-The  b'rood  of  folly  without  father  bred, 

How  little  you  bested, 

Or  fill  the  fixed  mind  with  all  your  toyes; 
Dwel'l  in  som  idle  brain, 

And  fancies  fond  with  gaudy  shapes  possess. 
As  thick  and  numberless 

As  the  gay  notes  that  people  the  Sun  Beams, 
Or  likest  hovering  dreams 

The  fickle  Pensioners  of  Morpheus  train. 
But  hail  thou  Goddes,  sage  and  holy. 
Hail  divinest  Melancholy, 
Whose  Saintly  visage  is  too  bright 
To  hit  the  Sense  of  human  sight; 
And  therfore  to  our  weaker  view, 
Ore  laid  with  black  staid  Wisdoms  hue, 
Black,  but  such  as  in  esteem, 
Prince  Memnons  sister  might  be  seem, 

1 68 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Or  that  Starr'd  Ethiope  Queen  that  strove 

To  set  her  beauties  praise  above 

The  Sea  Nymphs,  and  their  powers  oftended. 

Yet  thou  art  higher  far  descended, 

Thee  bright-hair'd  Vesta  long  of  yore, 

To  soHtary  Saturn  bore; 

His  daughter  she,  (in  Saturns  raign, 

Such  mixture  was  not  held  a  stain) 

Oft  in  glimmering  Bowres,  and  glades 

He  met  her,  and  in  secret  shades 

Of  woody  Ida's  inmost  grove. 

While  yet  there  was  no  fear  of  Jove. 

Com  pensive  Nun,  devout  and  pure, 

Sober,  stedfast,  and  demure. 

All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain, 

Flowing  with  majestick  train, 

And  sable  stole  of  Cipres  Lawn, 

Over  thy  decent  shoulders  drawn. 

Com,  but  keep  thy  wonted  state. 

With  eev'n  step,  and  musing  gate. 

And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies. 

Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes, 

There  held  in  holy  passion  still, 

Forget  thy  self  to  Marble,  till 

With  a  sad  Leaden  downward  cast. 

Thou  fix  them  on  the  earth  as  fast. 

And  joyn  with  thee  calm  Peace,  and  Quiet, 

Spare  Fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet. 

And  hears  the  Muses  in  a  ring, 

Ay  round  about  Joves  Altar  sing. 

And  adde  to  these  retired  Leasure, 

That  in  trim  Gardens  takes  his  pleasure; 

169 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  first,  and  chiefest,  with  thee  bring, 
Him  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing, 
Guiding  the  fiery-wheeled  throne. 
The  Cherub  Contemplation, 
And  the  mute  Silence  hist  along, 
'Less  Philomel  will  daign  a  Song, 
In  her  sweetest,  saddest  plight, 
Smoothing  the  rugged  brow  of  night, 
While  Cynthia  checks  her  Dragon  yoke, 
Gently  o're  th'  accustom'd  Oke; 
Sweet  Bird  that  Shunn'st  the  noise  of  folly. 
Most  musicall,  most  melancholy! 
Thee  Chauntress  oft  the  Woods  among, 
I  woo  to  hear  thy  eeven-Song; 
And  missing  thee,  I  walk  unseen 
On  the  dry  smooth-shaven  Green, 
To  behold  the  wandring  Moon, 
Riding  neer  her  highest  noon. 
Like  one  that  had  bin  led  astray 
Through  the  JHeav'ns  wide  pathles  way; 
And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bow'd. 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. 
Oft  on  a  Plat  of  rising  ground, 
I  hear  the  far-ofF  Curfeu  sound. 
Over  som  wide-water'd  shoar. 
Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar; 
Or  if  the  Ayr  will  not  permit, 
Som  still  removed  place  will  fit. 
Where  glowing  Embers  through  the  room 
Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom, 
Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth. 
Save  the  Cricket  on  the  hearth, 
170 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Or  the  Belmans  drousie  charm, 

To  bless  the  dores  from  nightly  harm: 

Or  let  my  Lamp  at  midnight  hour, 

Be  seen  in  som  high  lonely  Towr, 

Where  I  may  oft  out-watch  the  Bear, 

With  thrice  great  Hermes,  or  unsphear 

The  spirit  of  Plato  to  unfold 

What  Worlds,  or  what  vast  Regions  hold 

The  immortal  mind  that  hath  forsook 

Her  mansion  in  this  fleshly  nook: 

And  of  those  Dcemons  that  are  found 

In  fire,  air,  flood,  or  under  ground. 

Whose  power  hath  a  true  consent 

With  Planet,  or  with  Element. 

Som  time  let  Gorgeous  Tragedy 

In  Scepter'd  Pall  com  sweeping  by, 

Presenting  Thehs,  or  Pe/ops  line, 

Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine. 

Or  what  (though  rare)  of  later  age, 

Ennobled  hath  the  Buskind  stage. 

But,  O  sad  Virgin,  that  thy  power 

Might  raise  Musceus  from  his  bower, 

Or  bid  the  soul  of  Orpheus  sing 

Such  notes  as  warbled  to  the  string. 

Drew  Iron  tears  down  Pluto's  cheek. 

And  made  Hell  grant  what  Love  did  seek. 

Or  call  up  him  that  left  half  told 

The  story  of  Camhuscan  bold. 

Of  Camhall,  and  of  Algarsife, 

And  who  had  Canace  to  wife. 

That  own'd  the  vertuous  Ring  and  Glass, 

And  of  the  wondrous  Hors  of  Brass, 


T/I 


THE  BOOK  OF 

On  which  the  Tartar  King  did  ride; 
And  if  ought  els,  great  Bards  beside, 
In  sage  and  solemn  tunes  have  sung, 
Of  Turneys  and  of  Trophies  hung; 
Of  Forests,  and  inchantments  drear, 
Where  more  is  meant  then  meets  the  ear. 
Thus  night  oft  see  me  in  thv  pale  career, 
Till  civil-suited  Morn  appeer, 
Not  trickt  and  frounc't  as  she  was  wont, 
With  the  Attick  Boy  to  hunt, 
But  Cherchef't  in  a  comly  Cloud, 
While  rocking  Winds  are  Piping  loud. 
Or  usher'd  with  a  shower  still. 
When  the  gust  hath  blown  his  fill. 
Ending  on  the  tussling  Leaves, 
With  minute  drops  from  off  the  Eaves. 
And  when  the  Sun  begins  to  fling 
His  flaring  beams,  me  Goddes  bring 
To  arched  walks  of  twilight  groves. 
And  shadows  brown  that  Sylvan  loves 
Of  Pine,  or  monumental  Oake, 
Where  the  rude  Ax  with  heaved  stroke 
Was  never  heard  the  Nymphs  to  daunt. 
Or  fright  them  from  their  hallow'd  haunt. 
There  in  close  covert  by  som  Brook, 
Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look. 
Hide  me  from  Day's  garish  eie. 
While  the  Bee  with  Honied  thie. 
That  at  her  flowry  work  doth  sing. 
And  the  Waters  murmuring 
With  such  consort  as  they  keep. 
Entice  the  dewy-feather'd  Sleep; 
172 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  let  som  strange  mysterious  dream, 

Wave  at  his  Wings  in  Airy  stream, 

Of  lively  portrature  display'd, 

Softly  on  my  eye-lids  laid. 

And  as  I  wake,  sweet  musick  breath 

Above,  about,  or  underneath, 

Sent  by  som  spirits  to  mortals  good. 

Or  th'  unseen  Genius  of  the  Wood. 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail. 

To  walk  the  studious  Cloysters  pale. 

And  love  the  high  embowed  Roof, 

With  antick  Pillars  massy  proof. 

And  storied  Windows  richly  dight, 

Casting  a  dimm  religious  light. 

There  let  the  pealing  Organ  blow. 

To  the  full  voic'd  Quire  below. 

In  Service  high,  and  Anthems  cleer. 

As  may  with  sweetnes,  through  mine  ear. 

Dissolve  me  into  extasies. 

And  bring  all  Heav'n  before  mine  eyes. 

And  ma)'  at  last  my  weary  age 

Find  out  the  peacefull  hermitage. 

The  Hairy  Gown  and  Mossy  Cell, 

Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell 

Of  every  Star  that  Heav'n  doth  shew. 

And  every  Herb  that  sips  the  dew; 

Till  old  experience  do  attain 

To  somthing  like  Prophetic  strain. 

These  pleasures  Melancholy  give. 

And  I  with  thee  will  chose  to  live. 


J.  Milton 


THE  BOOK  OF 

///.  A  Poetic  Descant 

Upon  a  Private  Music-Meeting 

"|\  /FUSE!     Rise,  and  plume  thy  feet,  and  let's  converse 

IVX'pj^jg  morn  together:  let's  rehearse 

Last  evening's  svs^eets;  and  run  one  heat  in  full-speed  verse. 

Prank  not  thyself  in  metaphors;  but  pound 
Thy  ranging  tropes,  that  they  may  sound 
Nothing  but  what  our  Paradise  did  then  surround. 

Throned  first  Parthenian  heav'n-bred  beauties  were 

Near  crystal  casements'  Eastern  sphere; 
Who  like  to  Venus  sparkled,  yet  more  chaste  than  fair. 

'Mongst  which,  one  radiant  star  so  largely  shone. 

She  seem'd  a  constellation; 
Her  front  'bove  lily-white,  cheek  'bove  rose-red,  full  blown. 

Yet  be  not  planet-struck,  like  some  that  gaze 

Too  eagerly  on  Beauty's  blaze; 
There's  none  like  thine,  dear  Muse!  theirs  are  but  meteor- 
rays. 

Suitors  to  idols  offer  idle  suits. 

Which  hold  their  presence  more  recruits 
Their  broken  hopes,  than  viols,  pedals,  organs,  lutes. 

But,  whist!  The  masculine  sweet  planets  .met, 

Their  instruments  in  tune  have  set. 
And  now  begin  to  ransack  Music's  cabinet. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Sol!     Thou  pure  fountain  of  this  streaming  Noise! 

Patron  of  Sweetness!     Soul  of  Joys! 
How  were  we  ravish'd  with  thy  viol's  warbling  voice! 

Thy  nectar-dropping  joints  so  played  their  part, 

They  forced  the  fibres  of  our  heart 
To  dance:  thy  bow's  swift  lightning  made  the  tears  to  start. 

Thou  didst  ev'n  saw  the  grumbling  catlines  still, 

And  tortured'st  the  base,  until 
His  roaring  diapasons  did  the  whole  room  fill. 

Luna  the  pedal  richly  did  adorn; 

If  'twixt  the  cedar  and  the  thorn 
There's  ought  harmonious, 'twas  from  this  sweet  fir-tree  born. 

As  Philomel,  Night's  minstrel,  jugs  her  tides 

Of  rolling  melody;  she  rides 
On  surges  down  to  th'  deep;  and,  when  she  lifts,  up  glides. 

Jove  cataracts  of  liquid  gold  did  pour. 

More  precious  than  his  Danae's  show'r; 
From  pedal-drops  to  organ-deluge  swell'd  the  stour. 

Mars  twang'd  a  violin  (his  fierce  drums  for  fight 

Turn'd  to  brisk  Almans)  with  what  sprite 
His  treble  shrill'd  forth  marches,  which  he  strain'd  to  the 
height! 

His  active  bow,  arm'd  with  a  war-like  tone, 

Rallied  his  troops  of  strings,  as  one. 
Which  volleys  gave  i'  th'  chase  of  swift  division. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

So  the  Pelean  youth  was  vanquish'd  still 

By  his  renown'd  musician's  skill, 
Which  could  disarm,  and  arm  the  conqueror  at  will. 

Last  Mercury  with  ravishing  strains  fell  on, 

Whose  violin  seem'd  the  chymic-stone, 
For  every  melting  touch  was  pure  projection. 

Chair'd  midst  the  spheres  of  Music's  Heav'n,  I  hear, 

I  gaze:  charm'd  all  to  eye  and  ear; 
Both  which,  with  objects  too  intense,  even  martyr'd  were. 

Th'  excess  of  fairs,  distill'd  through  sweets,  did  woo 

My  wav'ring  soul,  maz'd  what  to  do. 
Or  to  quit  eyes  for  ears,  or  ears  for  eyes  forego. 

Giddy  i'  th'  change  which  sex  to  crown  with  praise; 

Time  swore  he  never  was  with  lays 
More  sweetly  spent;  nor  Beauty  ever  beam'd  such  rays. 

'Twixt  these  extremes  mine  eyes  and  ears  did  stray, 

And  sure  it  was  no  time  to  pray; 
The  Deities  themselves  then  being  all  at  play. 

The  fuU-throng'd  room  its  ruin  quite  defies: 

Nor  fairs,  nor  airs  are  pond'rous;  skies 
Do  scorn  to  shrink,  though  pil'd  with  stars  and  harmonies. 

Form,  Beauty,  Sweetness,  all  did  here  conspire, 

Combin'd  in  one  Celestial  Quire, 
To  charm  the  enthusiastic  sou!  with  enthean  fire: 
176 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

These  buoy  up  care-sunk  thoughts;  their  power  endues 

A  castril  brain  with  eagle-muse: 
When  Saints  would  highest  soar  they  Music's  pinions  use. 

Music!  thy  med'cines  can  our  grief  allay, 

And  re-inspire  our  lumpish  clay: 
Muse!  Thou  transcend'st;  thou  without  instruments  canst 

play. 
Blandulis  Longum  Vale  Cantilenis. 

E.  Benlowes 


112.  At  a  Solemn  Miisick 

T3LEST  pair  of  Sirens,  pledges  of  Heav'ns  joy, 

-*-^        Sphear-born  harmonious  Sisters,  Voice,  and  Vers, 

Wed  your  divine  sounds,  and  mixt  power  employ 

Dead  things  with  inbreath'd  sense  able  to  pierce, 

And  to  our  high-rais'd  phantasie  present. 

That  undisturbed  Song  of  pure  content. 

Ay  sung  before  the  saphire-colour'd  throne 

To  him  that  sits  theron 

With  Saintly  shout,  and  solemn  Jubily, 

Where  the  bright  Seraphim  in  burning  row 

Their  loud  up-lifted  Angel  trumpets  blow, 

And  the  Cherubick  host  in  thousand  quires 

Touch  their  immortal  Harps  of  golden  wires. 

With  those  just  Spirits  that  wear  victorious  Palms, 

Hymns  devout  and  holy  Psalms 

Singing  everlastingly; 

That  we  on  Earth  with  undiscording  voice 

May  rightly  answer  that  melodious  noise; 

177 


THE  BOOK  OF 

As  once  we  did,  till  disproportion'd  sin 

Jarr'd  against  natures  chime,  and  with  harsh  din 

Broke  the  fair  musick  that  all  creatures  made 

To  their  great  Lord,  whose  love  their  motion  sway'd 

In  perfect  Diapason,  whilst  they  stood 

In  first  obedience,  and  their  state  of  good. 

O  may  we  soon  again  renew  that  Song, 

And  keep  in  tune  with  Heav'n,  till  God  ere  long 

To  his  celestial  consort  us  unite. 

To  live  with  him,  and  sing  in  endles  morn  of  light. 

].  Milton 


113.  Man 

■yi  WEIGHING  the  steadfastness  and  state 

*  *   Of  some  mean  things  which  here  below  reside, 
Where  birds,  like  watchful  clocks,  the  noiseless  date 

And  intercourse  of  times  divide. 
Where  bees  at  night  get  home  and  hive,  and  flow'rs, 

Early  as  well  as  late. 
Rise  with  the  sun  and  set  in  the  same  bow'rs; 


I  would — said  I — my  God  would  give 
The  staidness  of  these  things  to  man!  for  these 
To  His  divine  appointments  ever  cleave. 

And  no  new  business  breaks  their  peace; 
The  birds  nor  sow  nor  reap,  yet  sup  and  dine; 

The  flow'rs  without  clothes  live. 
Yet  Solomon  was  never  dress'd  so  fine. 
178 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Man  hath  still  either  toys,  or  care; 
He  hath  no  root,  nor  to  one  place  is  tied, 
But  ever  restless  and  irregular 

About  this  Earth  doth  run  and  ride. 
He  knows  he  hath  a  home,  but  scarce  knows  where; 

He  says  it  is  so  far. 
That  he  hath  quite  forgot  how  to  go  there. 

He  knocks  at  all  doors,  strays  and  roams. 
Nay,  hath  not  so  much  wit  as  some  stones  have. 
Which  in  the  darkest  nights  point  to  their  homes. 

By  some  hid  sense  their  Maker  gave; 
Man  is  the  shuttle,  to  whose  winding  quest 

And  passage  through  these  looms 
God  order'd  motion,  but  ordain'd  no  rest. 

H.  Faughan 


11^.    Upon   the  Jf'eakness  and  Misery 
of  Man 

/'~\UR  pains  are  real  things,  and  all 
^-^   Our  pleasures  but  fantastical. 
Diseases  of  their  own  accord, 
But  cures  come  difficult  and  hard. 
Our  noblest  piles  and  stateliest  rooms 
Are  but  outhouses  to  our  tombs; 
Cities  though  ne'er  so  great  and  brave 
But  mere  warehouses  to  the  grave. 
Our  bravery's  but  a  vain  disguise 
To  hide  us  from  the  world's  dull  eyes, 

179 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  remedy  of  a  defect 
With  which   our  nakedness  is  decked, 
Yet  makes  us  smile  with  pride  and  boast 
As  if  we  had  gained  by  being  lost. 

S.  Butler 


11^.  On   Time 

L^LY  envious  Time,  till  thou  run  out  thy  race, 

-*-     Call  on  the  lazy  leaden-steeping  hours. 

Whose  speed  is  but  the  heavy  Plummets  pace; 

And  glut  thy  self  with  what  thy  womb  devours, 

Which  is  no  more  then  what  is  false  and  vain, 

And  meerly  mortal  dross; 

So  little  is  our  loss. 

So  little  is  thy  gain. 

For  when  as  each  thing  bad  thou  hast  entomb'd. 

And  last  of  all,  thy  greedy  self  consum'd. 

Then  long  Eternity  shall  greet  our  bliss 

With  an  individual  kiss; 

And  Joy  shall  overtake  us  as  a  flood. 

When  every  thing  that  is  sincerely  good 

And  perfectly  divine. 

With  Truth,  and  Peace,  and  Love  shall  ever  shine 

About  the  supreme  Throne 

Ot  him,  t'whose  happy-making  sight  alone, 

When  once  our  heav'nly-guided  soul  shall  clime, 

Then  all  this  Earthy  grosnes  quit, 

Attir'd  with  Stars,  we  shall  for  ever  sit, 

Triumphing  over  Death,  and  Chance,  and  thee  O  Time. 

/.  Milton 

i8o 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

1 1 6.  The  Retreat 

T  T  APPY  those  early  days,  when  I 

-*-  -*-    Shin'd  in  my  angel-infancy! 
Before  I  understood  this  place 
Appointed  for  my  second  race, 
Or  taught  my  soul  to  fancy  ought 
But  a  white,  celestial  thought; 
When  yet  I  had  not  walk'd  above 
A  mile  or  two  from  my  first  love, 
And  looking  back— at  that  short  space — 
Could  see  a  glimpse  of  His  bright  face; 
When  on  some  gilded  cloud,  or  flow'r, 
My  gazing  soul  would  dwell  an  hour. 
And  in  those  weaker  glories  spy 
Some  shadows  of  eternity; 
Before  I  taught  my  tongue  to  wound 
My  conscience  with  a  sinful  sound, 
Or  had  the  black  art  to  dispense 
A  sev'ral  sin  to  every  sense, 
But  felt  through  all  this  fleshly  dress 
Bright  shoots  of  everlastingness. 
O  how  I  long  to  travel  back, 
And  tread  again  that  ancient  track! 
That  I  might  once  more  reach  that  plain, 
Where  first  I  left  my  glorious  train; 
From  whence  th'  enlighten'd  spirit  sees 
That  shady  City  of  palm-trees. 
But  ah!  my  soul  with  too  much  stay 
Is  drunk,  and  staggers  in  the  way! 
Some  men  a  forward  motion  love, 
But  I  by  backward  steps  would  move; 

i8i 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  when  this  dust  falls  to  the  urn, 
In  that  state  I  came,  return. 

H.  Faugh  an 


iiy.  Corruption 

OURE,  it  was  so.     Man  in  those  early  davs 

*^     Was  not  all  stone  and  earth: 

He  shin'd  a  little,  and  by  those  weak  rays 

Had  some  glimpse  of  his  birth. 
He  saw  heaven  o'er  his  head,  and  knew  from  whence 

He  came,  condemned,  thither; 
And,  as  first  love  draws  strongest,  so  from  hence 

His  mind  sure  progress'd  thither. 
Things  here  were  strange  unto  him;  sweat  and  till; 

All  was  a  thorn  or  weed; 
Nor  did  those  last,  but — like  himself — died  still 

As  soon  as  they  did  seed; 
They  seem'd  to  quarrel  with  him;  for  that  act, 

They  fell  him,  foil'd  them  all; 
He  drew  the  curse  upon  the  world,  and  crack'd 

The  whole  frame  with  his  fall. 
This  made  him  long  for  home,  as  loth  to  stay 

With  murmurers  and  foes; 
He  sighed  for  Eden,  and  would  often  say 

*Ah!  what  bright  days  were  those!' 
Nor  was  heav'n  cold  unto  him;  tor  each  day 

The  valley  or  the  mountain 
Afforded  visits,  and  still  Paradise  lay 

In  some  green  shade  or  fountain. 
182 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Angels  lay  leiger  here;  each  bush,  and  cell, 

Each  oak,  and  highway  knew  them; 
Walk  but  the  fields,  or  sit  down  at  some  well, 

And  he  was  sure  to  view  them. 
Almighty  Love!  where  art  Thou  now?  mad  man 

Sits  down  and  freeezeth  on; 
He  raves,  and  swears  to  stir  nor  fire,  nor  tan. 

But  bids  the  thread  be  spun. 
I  see.  Thy  curtains  are  close-drawn;  Thy  bow 

Looks  dim  too  in  the  cloud; 
Sin  triumphs  still,  and  man  is  sunk  below 

The  centre,  and  his  shroud. 
All's  in  deep  sleep  and  night:  thick  darkness  lies 

And  hatcheth  o'er  Thy  people — 
But  hark!  what  trumpet's  that?  what  angel  cries 

'Arise!  thrust  in  Thy  sickle?' 

H.  Vaughan 

II 8.  Affliction 

"PEACE!  peace!  it  is  not  so.     Thou  dost  miscall 
-*-        Thy  physic:  pills  that  change 
Thy  sick  accessions  into  settled  health; 
This  is  the  great  elixir,  that  turns  gall 
To  wine  and  sweetness,  poverty  to  wealth; 
And  brings  man  home  when  he  doth  range. 
Did  not  He,  Who  ordain'd  the  day. 

Ordain  night  too  ? 

And  in  the  greater  world  display 

What  in  the  lesser  He  would  do  ? 

All  flesh  is  clay,  thou  know'st;  and  but  that  God 

Doth  use  His  rod, 

183 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  by  a  fruitful  change  of  frosts  and  showers 

Cherish,  and  bind  thy  pow'rs, 
Thou  wouldst  to  weeds  and  thistles  quite  disperse. 

And  be  more  wild  than  is  thy  verse. 
Sickness   is  wholsome,  and  crosses  are  but  curbs 

To  check  the  mule,  unruly  man; 
They  are  heaven's  husbandry,  the  famous  fan, 

Purging  the  floor  which  chaff  disturbs. 
Were  all  the  year  one  constant  sunshine,  we 

Should  have  no  flowers; 
All  would  be  drought  and  leanness;  not  a  tree 

Would  make  us  bowers. 
Beauty  consists  in  colours;  and  that's  best 

Which  is  not  fix'd,  but  flies  and  flows; 
The  settled  red  is  dull,  and  whites  that  rest 
Something  of  sickness  would  disclose. 
Vicissitude  plays  all  the  game; 
Nothing  that  stirs. 
Or  hath  a  name, 
But  waits  upon  this  wheel; 
Kingdoms  too  have  their  physic,  and  for  steel 

Exchange  their  peace  and  furs. 
Thus  doth  God  key  disorder'd  man, 
Which  none  else  can. 
Tuning  his  breast  to  rise  or  fall; 
And  by  a  sacred,  needful  art 
Like  strings  stretch  ev'ry  part. 
Making  the  whole  most  musical. 

H.  Vaughan 


184 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

iig.  On  His  Blindness 

"\  ^  THEN  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent, 
'  *  E're  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide. 

And  that  one  Talent  which  is  death  to  hide, 
Lodg'd  with  me  useless,  though  my  Soul  more  bent 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  least  he  returning  chide, 
Doth  God  exact  day-labour,  light  deny'd, 
I  fondly  ask;  But  patience  to  prevent 

That  murmur,  soon  replies,  God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work  or  his  own  gifts,  who  best 
Bear  his  milde  yoak,  they  serve  him  best,  his  State 

Is  Kingly.     Thousands  at  his  bidding  speed 
And  post  o're  Land  and  Ocean  without  rest: 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  waite. 

J.  Milton 


120.  The  Pilgrim 

"XXTHO  would  true  valour  see 
'  *  Let  him  come  hither! 

One  here  will  constant  be. 

Come  wind,  come  weather: 
There's  no  discouragement 
Shall  make  him  once  relent 
His  first  avow'd  intent 

To  be  a  Pilgrim. 

Whoso  beset  him  round 
With  dismal  stories, 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Do  but  themselves  confound; 

His  strength  the  more  is. 
No  lion  can  him  fright; 
He'll  with  a  giant  fight; 
But  he  will  have  a  right 

To  be  a  Pilgrim. 

Hobgoblin,  nor  foul  fiend, 
Can  daunt  his  spirit; 

He  knows  he  at  the  end 
Shall  Life  inherit: — 

Then,  fancies,  fly  away; 

He'll  not  fear  what  men  say; 

He'll  labour,  night  and  day. 
To  be  a  Pilgrim. 


J .  Bunyan 


121.      The  Shepherd  Boy  Sings  in   the 
Valley   of  Humiliation 

T  T  E  that  is  down  needs  fear  no  fall, 
-*■  -*-  He  that  is  low,  no  pride; 

He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 
Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

I  am  content  with  what  I  have. 

Little  be  it,  or  much: 
And,  Lord,  contentment  still  I  crave, 

Because  Thou  savest  such. 

186 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Fullness  to  such  a  burden  is 

That  go  on  pilgrimage: 
Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss, 

Is  best  from  age  to  age. 


J .  Bunyan 


122.  The  World 


T  SAW  Eternity  the  other  night, 

-*-      Like  a  great  ring  of  pure  and  endless  light, 

All  calm,  as  it  was  bright; 
And  round  beneath  it.  Time  in  hours,  days,  years, 

Driv'n  by  the  spheres 
Like  a  vast  shadow  mov'd;  in  which  the  world 

And  all  her  train  were  hurl'd. 
The  doting  lover  in  his  quaintest  strain 

Did  there  complain; 
Near  him,  his  lute,  his  fancy,  and  his  flights. 

Wit's  sour  delights; 
With  gloves,  and  knots,  the  silly  snares  of  pleasure, 

Yet  his  dear  treasure, 
All  scatter'd  lay,  while  he  his  eyes  did  pour 

Upon  a  flow'r. 

The  darksome  statesman,  hung  with  weights  and  woe, 
Like  a  thick  midnight-fog,  mov'd  there  so  slow. 

He  did  nor  stay,  nor  go; 
Condemning  thoughts — like  sad  eclipses — scowl 

Upon  his  soul. 
And  clouds  of  crying  witnesses  without 

Pursued  him  with  one  shout. 

187 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Yet  digg'd  the  mole,  and  lest  his  ways  be  found, 

Work'd  under  ground, 
Where  he  did  clutch  his  prey;  but  one  did  see 

That  policy: 
Churches  and  altars  fed  him;  perjuries 

Were  gnats  and  flies; 
It  rain'd  about  him  blood  and  tears,  but  he 

Drank  them  as  free. 

The  fearful  miser  on  a  heap  of  rust 

Sate  pining  all  his  life  there,  did  scarce  trust 

His  own  hands  with  the  dust, 
Yet  would  not  place  one  piece  above,  but  lives 

In  fear  of  thieves. 
Thousands  there  were  as  frantic  as  himself. 

And  hugg'd  each  one  his  pelf; 
The  downright  epicure  plac'd  heav'n  in  sense, 

And  scorn'd  pretence; 
While  others,  slipp'd  into  a  wide  excess. 

Said  little  less; 
The  weaker  sort  slight,  trivial  wares  enslave, 

Who  think  them  brave; 
And  poor,  despised  Truth  sate  counting  by 

Their  victory. 

Yet  some,  who  all  this  while  did  weep  and  sing, 
And  sing,  and  weep,  soar'd  up  irto  the  ring; 

But  most  would  use  no  wing. 
O  fools — said  I — thus  to  prefer  dark  night 

Before  true  light! 
To  live  in  grots  and  caves,  and  hate  the  day 

Because  it  shows  the  way; 
1 88 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  way,  which  from  this  dead  and  dark  abode 

Leads  up  to  God; 
A  way  where  you  might  tread  the  sun,  and  be 

More  bright  than  he! 
But  as  I  did  their  madness  so  discuss, 

One  whisper'd  thus, 
'This  ring  the  Bridegroom  did  for  none  provide. 

But  for  His  bride.' 

H.  Vaughan 


12^.  The  Philosopher's  Devotion 

OING  aloud!  His  praise  rehearse 
^     Who  hath  made  the  universe. 
He  the  boundless  heavens  has  spread, 
All  the  vital  orbs  has  kned; 
He  that  on  Olympus  high 
Tends  his  flocks  with  watchful  eye. 
And  this  eye  has  multiplied 
Midst  each  flock  for  to  reside. 
Thus,  as  round  about  they  stray, 
Toucheth  each  with  outstretched  ray; 
Nimble  they  hold  on  their  way. 
Shaping  out  their  night  and  day. 
Summer,  winter,  autumn,  spring, 
Their  inclined  axes  bring. 
Never  slack  they;  none  respires, 
Dancing  round  their  central  fires. 

In  due  order  as  they  move. 
Echoes  sweet  be  gently  drove 

189 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thorough  heaven's  vast  hollowness 
Which  unto  all  corners  press: 
Music  that  the  heart  of  Jove 
Moves  to  joy  and  sportful  love; 
Fills  the  hstening  sailors'  ears 
Riding  on  the  wandering  spheres: 
Neither  speech  nor  language  is 
Where  their  voice  is  not  transmiss. 

God  is  good,  is  wise,  is  strong, 
Witness  all  the  creature  throng. 
Is  confessed  by  every  tongue; 
All  things  back  from  whence  they  sprung, 
As  the  thankful  rivers  pay 
What  they  borrow  of  the  sea. 

Now  myself  I  do  resign; 
Take  me  whole;  I  all  am  thine. 
Save  me,  God,  from  self-desire. 
Death's  pit,  dark  hell's  raging  fire, 
Envy,  hatred,  vengeance,  ire; 
Let  not  lust  my  soul  bemire. 

Quit  from  these  thy  praise  I'll  sing. 
Loudly  sweep  the  trembling  string. 
Bear  a  part,  O  Wisdom's  sons, 
Freed  from  vain  religions! 
Lo!  from  far  I  you  salute, 
Sweetly  warbling  on  my  lute — 
India,  Egypt,  Araby, 
Asia,  Greece,  and  Tartary, 
Carmel-tracts,  and  Lebanon, 
With  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon, 
From  whence  muddy  Nile  doth  run. 
Or  wherever  else  you  won: 
190 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Breathing  in  one  vital  air, 
One  we  are  though  distant  far. 

Rise  at  once;  let's  sacrifice: 
Odours  sweet  perfume  the  skies; 
See  how  heavenly  lightning  fires 
Hearts  inflamed  with  high  aspires! 
All  the  substance  of  our  souls 
Up  in  clouds  of  incense  rolls. 
Leave  we  nothing  to  ourselves 
Save  a  voice — what  need  we  else! 
Or  an  hand  to  wear  and  tire 
On  the  thankful  lute  or  lyre! 

Sing  aloud!  His  praise  rehearse 
Who  hath  made  the  universe. 


H.  More 


124.        On   the  Morning  of  Christ's 
Nativity 

''T^'HIS  is  the  Month,  and  this  the  happy  morn 
-*■       Wherin  the  Son  of  Heav'ns  eternal  King, 
Of  wedded  Maid,  and  Virgin  Mother  born. 
Our  great  redemption  from  above  did  bring; 
For  so  the  holy  sages  once  did  sing. 

That  he  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release. 
And  with  his  Father  work  us  a  perpetual  peace. 

That  glorious  Form,  that  Light  unsufFerable, 
And  that  far-beaming  blaze  of  Majesty, 
Wherwith  he  wont  at  Heav'ns  high  Councel  Table, 
To  sit  the  midst  of  Trinal  Unity, 

191 


THE  BOOK  OF 

He  laid  aside;  and  here  with  us  to  be, 

Forsook  the  Courts  of  everlasting  Day, 
And  chose  with  us  a  darksom  House  of  mortal  Clay. 

Say  Heav'nly  Muse,  shall  not  thy  sacred  vein 

Afford  a  present  to  the  Infant  God  ? 

Hast  thou  no  vers,  no  hymn,  or  solemn  strein. 

To  welcom  him  to  this  his  new  abode, 

Now  while  the  Heav'n  by  the  Suns  team  untrod. 

Hath  took  no  print  of  the  approching  light. 
And  all  the  spangled  host  keep  watch  in  squadrons  bright  ? 

See  how  from  far  upon  the  Eastern  rode 
The  Star-led  Wisards  haste  with  odours  sweet, 
O  run,  prevent  them  with  thy  humble  ode. 
And  lay  it  lowly  at  his  blessed  feet; 
Have  thou  the  honour  first,  thy  Lord  to  greet. 

And  joyn  thy  voice  unto  the  Angel  Quire, 
From  out  his  secret  Altar  toucht  with  hallow'd  fire. 


/i?5.  The  Hymn 

T  T  was  the  Winter  wilde 

-*-     While  the  Heav'n-born-childe, 

All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  manger  lies; 
Nature  in  aw  to  him 
Had  doff't  her  gawdy  trim. 

With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathise: 
It  was  no  season  then  for  her 
To  wanton  with  the  Sun  her  lusty  Paramour. 
192 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Only  with  speeches  fair 
She  woo's  the  gentle  Air 

To  hide  her  guilty  front  with  innocent  Snow, 
And  on  her  naked  shame, 
Pollute  with  sinful  blame, 

The  Saintly  Vail  of  Maiden  white  to  throw, 
Confounded,  that  her  Makers  eyes 
Should  look  so  neer  upon  her  foul  deformities. 

But  he  her  fears  to  cease, 

Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  Peace, 

She  crown'd  with  Olive  green,  came  softly  sliding 
Down  through  the  turning  sphear 
His  ready  Harbinger, 

With  Turtle  wing  the  amorous  clouds  dividing. 
And  waving  wide  her  mirtle  wand. 
She  strikes  a  universall  Peace  through  Sea  and  Land. 

No  War,  or  Battails  sound 
Was  heard  the  World  around. 

The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  up  hung; 
The  hooked  Chariot  stood 
Unstain'd  with  hostile  blood. 

The  Trumpet  spake  not  to  the  armed  throng. 
And  Kings  sate  still  with  awfull  eye, 
As  if  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was  by. 

But  peaceful  was  the  night 
Wherin  the  Prince  of  light 

His  raign  of  peace  upon  the  earth  began: 
The  Windes  with  wonder  whist, 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Smoothly  the  waters  kist, 

Whispering  new  joyes  to  the  milde  Ocean, 
Who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave, 
While  Birds  of  Calm  sit  brooding  on  the  charmed  wave. 

The  Stars  with  deep  amaze 
Stand  fixt  in  stedfast  gaze, 

Bending  one  way  their  pretious  influence. 
And  will  not  take  their  flight, 
For  all  the  morning  light. 

Or  Lucifer  that  often  warn'd  them  thence; 
But  in  their  glimmering  Orbs  did  glow, 
Untill  their  Lord  himself  bespake,  and  bid  them  go. 

And  though  the  shady  gloom 
Had  given  day  her  room. 

The  Sun  himself  with-held  his  wonted  speed, 
And  hid  his  head  for  shame. 
As  his  inferiour  flame. 

The  new  enlightn'd  world  no  more  should  need; 
He  saw  a  greater  Sun  appear 
Then  his  bright  Throne,  or  burning  Axletree  could  bear. 

The  Shepherds  on  the  Lawn, 
Or  ere  the  point  of  dawn. 

Sate  simply  chatting  in  a  rustick  row; 
Full  little  thought  they  than, 
That  the  mighty  Pan 

Was  kindly  com  to  live  with  them  below; 
Perhaps  their  loves,  or  els  their  sheep, 
Was  all  that  did  their  silly  thoughts  so  busie  keep. 
194 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

When  such  musick  sweet 
Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet, 

As  never  was  by  mortall  finger  strook. 
Divinely-warbled  voice 
Answering  the  stringed  noise, 

As  all  their  souls  in  blisfull  rapture  took: 
The  Air  such  pleasure  loth  to  lose, 
With  thousand  echo's  still  prolongs  each  heav'nly  close. 

Nature  that  heard  such  sound 
Beneath  the  hollow  round 

Of  Cynthia's  seat,  the  Airy  region  thrilling. 
Now  was  almost  won 
To  think  her  part  was  don, 

And  that  her  raign  had  here  its  last  fulfilling; 
She  knew  such  harmony  alone 
Could  hold  all  Heav'n  and  Earth  in  happier  union. 

At  last  surrounds  their  sight 
A  Globe  of  circular,  light. 

That  with  long  beams  the  shame-fac't  night  array'd, 
The  helmed  Cherubim 
And  sworded  Seraphim, 

Are  seen  in  glittering  ranks  with  wings  displaid. 
Harping  in  loud  and  solemn  quire. 
With  unexpressive  notes  to  Heav'ns  new-born  Heir. 

Such  Musick  (as  'tis  said) 
Before  was  never  made. 

But  when  of  old  the  sons  of  Morning  sung. 
While  the  Creator  Great 
His  constellations  set, 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  the  well-ballanc't  world  on  hinges  hung, 
And  cast  the  dark  foundations  deep, 
And  bid  the  weltring  waves  their  oozy  channel  keep. 


Ring  out  ye  Crystall  sphears, 
Once  bless  our  human  ears, 

(If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so) 
And  let  your  silver  chime 
Move  in  melodious  time; 

And  let  the  Base  of  Heav'ns  deep  Organ  blow 
And  with  your  ninefold  harmony 
Make  up  full  consort  to  th'  Angelike  symphony. 

For  if  such  holy  Song 
Enwrap  our  fancy  long, 

Time  will  run  back,  and  fetch  the  age  of  gold, 
And  speckl'd  vanity 
Will  sicken  soon  and  die. 

And  leprous  sin  will  melt  from  earthly  mould, 
And  Hell  it  self  will  pass  away. 
And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering  day. 

Yea  Truth,  and  Justice  then 
Will  down  return  to  men, 

Th'  enameld  Arras  of  the  Rain-bow  wearing. 
And  Mercy  set  between, 
Thron'd  in  Celestiall  sheen. 

With  radiant  feet  the  tissued  clouds  down  stearing, 
And  Heav'n  as  at  som  festivall, 
Will  open  wide  the  Gates  of  her  high  Palace  Hall. 
196 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  wisest  Fate  sayes  no, 
This  must  not  yet  be  so, 

The  Babe  lies  yet  in  smiling  Infancy, 
That  on  the  bitter  cross 
Must  redeem  our  loss; 

So  both  himself  and  us  to  glorifie: 
Yet  first  to  those  ychain'd  in  sleep, 
The  wakefull  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  through  the  deep. 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 
As  on  mount  Sinat  rang 

While  the  red  fire,  and  smouldring  clouds  out  brake: 
The  aged  Earth  agast 
With  terrour  of  that  blast. 

Shall  from  the  surface  to  the  center  shake; 
When  at  the  worlds  last  session, 
The  dreadfull  Judge  in  middle  Air  shall  spread  his  throne 

And  then  at  last  our  bliss 
Full  and  perfect  is. 

But  now  begins;  for  from  this  happy  day 
Th'  old  Dragon  under  ground 
In  straiter  limits  bound, 

Not  half  so  far  casts  his  usurped  sway, 
And  wrath  to  see  his  Kingdom  fail, 
Swindges  the  scaly  Horrour  of  his  foulded  tail. 

The  Oracles  are  dumm, 
No  voice  or  hideous  humm 

Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  deceiving. 
Apollo  from  his  shrine 

197 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Can  no  more  divine, 

With  hollow  shreik  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving. 
No  nightly  trance,  or  breathed  spell, 
Inspire's  the  pale-ey'd  Priest  from  the  prophetic  cell. 

The  lonely  mountains  o're, 
And  the  resounding  shore, 

A  voice  of  v?eeping  heard,  and  loud  lament; 
From  haunted  spring,  and  dale 
Edg'd  with  poplar  pale. 

The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent. 
With  flowre-inwov'n  tresses  torn 
The  Nimphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets  mourn. 

In  consecrated  Earth, 
And  on  the  holv  Hearth, 

The  Lars,  and  Lemures  moan  with  midnight  plaint, 
In  Urns,  and  Altars  round, 
A  drear,  and  dving  sound 

Affrights  the  Flamins  at  their  service  quaint; 
And  the  chill  Marble  seems  to  sweat, 
While  each  peculiar  power  forgoes  his  wonted  seat. 

Pcor,  and  Baahtn, 

Forsake  their  Temples  dim. 

With  that  twise-batter'd  god  of  Palestine, 
And  mooned  Ashtaroth, 
Heav'ns  Queen  and  Mother  both, 

Now  sits  not  girt  with  Tapers  holy  shine. 
The  Libyc  Hammon  shrinks  his  horn. 
In  vain  the  Tyriati  Maids  their  wounded  Thamuz  mourn. 
198 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  sullen  Moloch  fled, 
Hath  left  in  shadows  dred, 

His  burning  Idol  all  of  blackest  hue, 
In  vain  with  Cymbals  ring, 
They  call  the  grisly  king, 

In  dismall  dance  about  the  furnace  blue; 
The  brutish  gods  of  Nile  as  fast, 
Isis  and  Orus,  and  the  Dog  Anubis  hast. 

Nor  is  Osiris  seen 

In  Mcrnphian  Grove,  or  Green, 

Trampling  the  unshowr'd  Grasse  with  lowings  loud; 
Nor  can  he  be  at  rest 
Within  his  sacred  chest. 

Naught  but  profoundest  Hell  can  be  his  shroud, 
In  vain  with  Timbrel'd  Anthems  dark 
The  sable-stoled  Sorcerers  bear  his  worshipt  Ark. 

He  feels  from  Judas  Land 
The  dredded  Infants  hand. 

The  rayes  of  Bethlehem  blind  his  dusky  eyn; 
Nor  all  the  gods  beside, 
Longer  dare  abide. 

Not  Typhon  huge  ending  in  snaky  twine: 
Our  Babe  to  shew  his  Godhead  true, 
Can  in  his  swadling  bands  controul  the  damned  crew. 

So  when  the  Sun  in  bed, 
Curtain'd  with  cloudy  red, 

Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  Orient  wave, 
The  flocking  shadows  pale. 
Troop  to  th'  infernall  jail, 

199 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Each  fetter'd  Ghost  sHps  to  his  severall  grave, 
And  the  yellow-skirted  Fayes, 
Fly  after  the  Night-steeds,  leaving  their  Moon-lov'd  maze. 

But  see  the  Virgin  blest, 
Hath  laid  her  Babe  to  rest. 

Time  is  our  tedious  Song  should  here  have  ending, 
Heav'ns  youngest  teemed  Star, 
Hath  fixt  her  polisht  Car, 

Her  sleeping  Lord  with  Handmaid  Lamp  attending: 
And  all  about  the  Courtly  Stable, 
Bright-harnest  Angels  sit  in  order  serviceable. 

J.  Milton 


126.  Hymn 

T    ORD,  when  the  wise  men  came  from  far, 
*-^  Led  to  Thy  cradle  by  a  star, 
Then  did  the  shepherds  too  rejoice, 
Instructed  by  Thy  Angel's  voice: 
Blest  were  the  wise  men  in  their  skill 
And  shepherds  in  their  harmless  will. 

Wise  men  in  tracing  Nature's  laws 
Ascend  unto  the  highest  Cause; 
Shepherds  with  humble  fearfulness 
Walk  safely,  though  their  Light  be  Life: 
Though  wise  men  better  know  the  way 
It  seems  no  honest  heart  can  stray. 
200 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

There  is  no  merit  in  the  wise 
But  Love,  (the  shepherds'  sacrifice) 
Wise  men,  all  ways  of  knowledge  past. 
To  the  shepherds'. wonder  come  at  last: 
To  know  can  only  wonder  breed, 
And  not  to  know  is  wonder's  seed. 


A  wise  man  at  the  altar  bows  • 
And  offers  up  his  studied  vows. 
And  is  received, — may  no::  the  tears. 
Which  springs  too  from  a  shepherd's  fears, 
And  sighs  upon  his  frailty  spent, 
Though  not  distinct,  be  eloquent  ? 


'Tis  true,  the  object,  sanctifies 
All  passions  which  within  us  rise. 
But  since  no  creature  comprehends 
The  Cause  of  causes.  End  of  Ends, 
He  who  himself  vouchsafes  to  know 
Best  pleases  his  Creator  so. 


When,  then,  our  sorrows  we  apply. 

To  our  own  wants  and  poverty. 

When  we  look  up  in  all  distress 

And  our  own  misery  confess. 

Sending  both  thanks  and  prayers  above — 

Then,  though  we  do  not  know,  we  love. 

S.  GodolpJiin 


20 1 


THE  BOOK  OF 
727.  Crttcifixiis  Pro  Nobis 

CHRIST    IN    THE    CRADLE 

T    OOK,  how  he  shakes  for  cold! 

-*— '     How  pale  his  lips  are  grown! 

Wherein  his  limbs  to  fold 

Yet  mantle  has  he  none. 

His  pretty  feet  and  hands 

(Of  late  more  pure  and  white 

Than  is  the  snow 

That  pains  them  so) 

Have  lost  their  candour  quite. 

His  lips  are  blue 

(Where  roses  grew), 

He's  frozen  ev'erywhere: 

All  th'  heat  he  has 

Joseph,  alas! 

Gives  in  a  groan;  or  Mary  in  a  tear. 

CHRIST    IN    THE    GARDEN 

Look,  how  he  glows  for  heat! 
What  flames  come  from  his  eyes! 
'Tis  blood  that  he  does  sweat, 
Blood  his  bright  forehead  dyes: 
See,  see!     It  trickles  down: 
Look,  how  it  showers  amain! 
Through  every  pore 
His  blood  runs  o'er. 
And  empty  leaves  each  vein. 
His  very  heart 
Burns  in  each  part; 
202 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

A  fire  his  breast  doth  sear: 

For  all  this  flame, 

To  cool  the  same 

He  only  breathes  a  sigh,  and  weeps  a  tear. 

CHRIST    IN    HIS    PASSION 

What  bruises  do  I  see! 

What  hideous  stripes  are  those! 

Could  any  cruel  be 

Enough,  to  give  such  blows  ? 

Look,  how  they  bind  his  arms 

And  vex  his  soul  with  scorns, 

Upon  his  hair 

They  make  him  wear 

A  crown  of  piercing  thorns. 

Through  hands  and  feet 

Sharp  nails  they  beat: 

And  now  the  cross  they  rear: 

Many  look  on: 

But  only  John 

Stands  by  to  sigh,  Mary  to  shed  a  tear. 

Why  did  he  shake  for  cold  ? 

Why  did  he  glow  for  heat  ? 

Dissolve  that  frost  he  could, 

He  could  call  back  that  sweat. 

Those  bruises,  stripes,  bonds,  taunts. 

Those  thorns,  which  thou  didst  see. 

Those  nails,  that  cross. 

His  own  life's  loss. 

Why,  O  why  suffered  he  .'* 


203 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Twas  for  thy  sake. 

Thou,  thou  didst  make 

Him  all  those  torments  bear: 

If  then  his  love 

Do  thy  soul  move, 

Sigh  out  a  groan,  weep  down  a  melting  tear. 

P.   Gary 

128.  The  Favour 

OTHY  bright  looks!     Thy  glance  of  love 
Shown,  and  but  shown,  me  from  above! 
Rare  looks!  that  can  dispense  such  joy 
As  without  wooing  wins  the  coy, 
And  makes  him  mourn,  and  pine,  and  die. 
Like  a  starv'd  eaglet,  for  Thine  eye. 
Some  kind  herbs  here,  though  low  and  tar, 
Watch  for  and  know  their  loving  star. 
O  let  no  star  compare  with  Thee! 
Nor  any  herb  out-duty  me! 
So  shall  my  nights  and  mornings  be 
Thy  time  to  shine,  and  mine  to  see. 

H.  Vaughan 

i2g.  The  Eclipse 

'I  1, '^HITHER,  O  whither  didst  thou  fly 
^  *        When  I  did  grieve  Thine  holy  eye  ? 

When  Thou  didst  mourn  to  see  me  lost, 

And  all  Thy  care  and  counsels  cross'd. 

O  do  not  grieve,  where'er  Thou  art! 

Thy  grief  is  an  undoing  smart, 
204 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Which  doth  not  only  pain,  but  break 
My  heart,  and  makes  me  blush  to  speak. 
Thy  anger  I  could  kiss,  and  will; 
But  O  Thy  grief,  Thy  grief,  doth  kill. 

H.    Faugh  an 

ISO.        Whilst  I  Beheld  the  Neck   o' 
th'  Dove 

WHILST  I  beheld  the  neck  o'  th'  dove, 
I  spied  and  read  these  words. 
'This  pretty  dye 
Which  takes  your  eye, 
Is  not  at  all  the  bird's. 
The  dusky  raven  might 
Have  with  these  colours  pleased  your  sight. 
Had  God  but  chose  so  to  ordain  aboVe;' 
This  label  wore  the  dove. 

Whilst  I  admired  the  nightingale. 

These  notes  she  warbled  o'er. 

'No  melody 

Indeed  have  I, 

Admire  me  then  no  more: 

God  has  it  in  His  choice 

To  give  the  owl,  or  me,  this  voice; 

'Tis  He,  'tis  He  that  makes  me  tell  my  tale;' 

This  sang  the  nightingale. 

I  smelt  and  praised  the  fragrant  rose, 
Blushing,  thus  answer'd  she. 
'The  praise  you  gave, 

205 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  scent  I  have, 

Do  not  belong  to  me; 

This  harmless  odour,  none 

But  only  God  indeed  does  own; 

To  be  His  keepers,  my  poor  leaves  He  chose; 

And  thus  replied  the  rose. 

I  took  the  honey  from  the  bee, 

On  th'  bag  these  words  were  seen. 

'More  sweet  than  this 

Perchance  nought  is. 

Yet  gall  it  might  have  been: 

If  God  it  should  so  please. 

He  could  still  make  it  such  with  ease; 

And  as  well  gall  to  honey  change  can  He;' 

This  learnt  I  of  the  bee. 

I  touch'd  and  liked  the  down  o'  th'  swan; 

But  felt  these  words  there  writ. 

'Bristles,  thorns,  here 

I  soon  should  bear, 

Did  God  ordain  but  it; 

If  my  down  to  thy  touch 

Seem  soft  and  smooth,  God  made  it  such; 

Give  more,  or  take  all  this  away,  He  can;' 

This  was  I  taught  by  th'  swan. 

All  creatures,  then,  confess  to  God 
That  th'  owe  Him  all,  but  I. 
My  senses  find 
True,  that  my  mind 
Would  still,  oft  does,  deny. 
206 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Hence,  Pride!  out  of  my  soul! 
O'er  it  thou  shah  no  more  control; 
I'll  learn  this  lesson,  and  escape  the  rod: 
I,  too,  have  all  from  God. 


P.   Gary 


iji.  The  Coronet 

"X  "X /"HEN  for  the  thorns  with  which  I  long,  too  long, 
•  *  With  many  a  piercing  wound. 

My  Saviour's  head  have  crowned, 

I  seek  with  garlands  to  redress  that  wrong, — 
Through  every  garden,  every  mead, 

I  gather  flowers  (my  fruits  are  only  flowers). 
Dismantling  all  the  fragrant  towers 

That  once  adorned  my  shepherdess's  head: 

And  now,  when  I  have  summed  up  all  my  store, 
Thinking  (so  I  myself  deceive) 
So  rich  a  chaplet  thence  to  weave 

As  never  yet  the  King  of  Glory  wore, 
Alas!  I  find  the  Serpent  old. 
That,  twining  in  his  speckled  breast. 
About  the  flowers  disguised,  does  fold 
With  wreaths  of  fame  and  interest. 

Ah,  foolish  man,  that  wouldst  debase  with  them, 

And  mortal  glory.  Heaven's  diadem! 

But  thou  who  only  couldst  the  Serpent  tame, 

Either  his  slippery  knots  at  once  untie. 

And  disentangle  all  his  winding  snare. 

Or  shatter  too  with  him  my  curious  frame, 

207 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  let  these  wither — so  that  he  may  die — 
Though  set  with  skill,  and  chosen  out  with  care; 
That  they,  while  thou  on  both  their  spoils  dost  tread, 
May  crown  Thy  feet,  that  could  not  crown  Thy  head. 

A.  Marvel  I 


IJ2.  Come,   Come!    What  Do  I  Here? 

/^OME,  come!     What  do  I  here  ? 
^-^  Since  he  is  gone 

Each  day  is  grown  a  dozen  year 
And  each  hour,  one; 
Come,  come! 
Cut  off  the  sum: 
By  these  soil'd  tears! 
Which  only  Thou 
Know'st  to  be  true, 
Days  are  my  fears. 


There's  not  a  wind  can  stir, 

Or  beam  pass  by, 
By  straight  I  think,  though  far. 
Thy  hand  is  nigh. 
Come,  come! 
Strike  these  lips  dumb: 
This  restless  breath. 
That  soils  Thy  name. 
Will  ne'er  be  tame 
Until  in  death. 
208 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Perhaps  some  think  a  tomb 

No  house  of  store, 
But  a  dark  and  seal'd  up  womb, 
Which  ne'er  breeds  more: 
Come,  come! 
Such  thoughts  benumb: 
But  I  would  be 
With  Him  I  weep 
Abed,  and  sleep, 
To  wake  in  Thee. 

H.   Vaughan 

/^j.  The  Moruing-JVatch 

O    JOYOUS!  infinite  sweetness!  with  what  flowers 
And  shoots  of  glory,  my  soul  breaks  and  buds! 
All  the  long  hours 
Of  night  and  rest. 
Through  the  still  shrouds 
Of  sleep,  and  clouds. 
This  dew  fell  on  my  breast; 
O  how  it  bloods. 
And  spirits  all  my  earth!  hark!  in  what  rings. 
And  hymning  circulations  the  quick  world 
Awakes,  and  sings! 
The  rising  winds, 
And  falling  springs. 
Birds,  beasts,  all  things 
Adore  Him  in  their  kinds. 
Thus  all  is  hurl'd 
In  sacred  hymns  and  order;  the  great  chime 
And  symphony  of  Nature.     Prayer  is 

209 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  world  in  tune, 

A  spirit-voice, 

And  vocal  joys. 
Whose  echo  is  heaven's  bHss. 

O  let  me  climb 
When  I  lie  dov^^n!     The  pious  soul  by  night 
Is  like  a  clouded  star,  whose  beams,  though  said 

To  shed  their  light 

Under  some  cloud, 

Yet  are  above, 

And  shine  and  move 
Beyond  that  misty  shroud. 

So  in  my  bed. 
That  curtain'd  grave,  though  sleep,  like  ashes,  hide 
My  lamp  and  life,  both  shall  in  Thee  abide. 

H.  Faughan 

I ^/f.  The  Dawnhig 

/^^H!  what  time  wilt  Thou  come.''  when  shall  that  cry 
^^     'The  Bridegroom's  coming!'  fill  the  sky  .^ 
Shall  it  in  the  evening  run 
When  our  words  and  works  are  done .'' 
Or  will  Thy  all-surprising  light 
Break  at  midnight. 
When  either  sleep,  or  some  dark  pleasure 
Possesseth  mad  man  without  measure? 
Or  shall  these  early,  fragrant  hours 

Unlock  Thy  bowers .? 
And  with  their  blush  of  light  descry 
Thy  locks  crown'd  with  eternity  .'' 
Indeed,  it  is  the  only  time 
2IO 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

That  with  Thy  glory  doth  best  chime; 
All  now  are  stirring,  every  field 

Full  hymns  doth  yield; 
The  whole  creation  shakes  off  night. 
And  for  Thy  shadow  looks,  the  light; 
Stars  now  vanish  without  number, 
Sleepy  planets  set  and  slumber, 
The  pursy  clouds  disband  and  scatter. 
All  expect  some  sudden  matter. 
Not  one  beam  triumphs,  but  from  far 

That  morning-star. 

O  at  one  time  soever  Thou, 

Unknown  to  us,  the  heavens  wilt  bow. 

And  with  Thy  angels  in  the  van. 

Descend  to  judge  poor  careless  man. 

Grant  I  may  not  like  puddle  lie 

In  a  corrupt  security. 

Where,  if  a  traveller  water  crave, 

He  finds  it  dead,  and  in  a  grave; 

But  at  this  restless,  vocal  spring 

All  day  and  night  doth  run  and  sing. 

And  though  here  born,  yet  is  acquainted 

Elsewhere,  and  flowing  keeps  untainted; 

So  let  me  all  my  busy  age 

In  Thy  free  services  engage; 

And  though — while  here— of  force  I  must 

Have  commerce  sometimes  with  poor  dust, 

And  in  my  flesh,  though  vile  and  low, 

As  this  doth  in  her  channel  flow. 

Yet  let  my  course,  my  aim,  my  love, 

And  chief  acquaintance  be  above; 

211 


THE  BOOK  OF 

So  when  that  day  and  hour  shall  come, 
In  which  Thy  Self  will  be  the  sun, 
Thou'lt  find  me  dress'd  and  on  my  way, 
Watching  the  break  of  Thy  great  day. 

H.   Vaughan 


135.     And  Do    They  So?    Have   They 
a  Sense 

A  ND  do  they  so  ?  have  they  a  sense 
*-  Of  ought  but  influence  ? 

Can  they  their  heads  lift,  and  expect. 
And  groan  too  ?  why  th'  elect 
Can  do  no  more;  my  volumes  said 
They  were  all  dull,  and  dead; 
They  judg'd  them  senseless,  and  their  state 
Wholly  inanimate. 
Go,  go;  seal  up  thy  looks, 
And  burn  thy  books! 

I  would  I  were  a  stone,  or  tree. 

Or  flower  by  pedigree. 
Or  some  poor  highway  herb,  or  spring 

To  flow,  or  bird  to  sing! 
Then  should  I — tied  to  one  sure  state — 

All  day  expect  my  date; 
But  I  am  sadly  loose,  and  stray 

A  giddy  blast  each  way; 

O  let  me  not  thus  change! 
Thou  canst  not  change. 
212 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Sometimes  I  sit  with  Thee,  and  tarry 

An  hour  or  so,  then  vary. 
Thy  other  creatures  in  this  scene 

Thee  only  aim,  and  mean; 
Some  rise  to  seek  Thee,  and  with  heads 

Erect,  peep  from  their  beds; 
Others,  whose  birth  is  in  the  tomb, 

And  cannot  quit  the  womb. 
Sigh  there,  and  groan  for  Thee, 

Their  hberty. 

O  let  not  me  do  less!  shall  they 

Watch,  while  I  sleep  or  play  ? 
Shall  I  Thy  mercies  still  abuse 

With  fancies,  friends,  or  news  ? 
O  brook  it  not!     Thy  blood  is  mine, 

And  my  soul  should  be  Thine; 
O  brook  it  not!  why  wilt  Thou  stop 

After  whole  showers  one  drop  ? 

Sure,  Thou  wilt  joy  to  see 
Thy  sheep  with  Thee. 

H.   Vaiighan 

1^6.  The  Rock 

Num.  XX.  ii. 

\  X  THAT  wonder's  this,  that  there  should  spring 

•  *        Streams  from  a  rock  to  quench  a  people's  thirst  ? 
What  man  alive  did  e'er  see  such  a  thing, 
That  waters  out  of  stone  should  burst, 

213 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Yet  rather  than  with  drowth  should  Israel  die, 
God  by  a  miracle  will  them  supply. 

What  wonder's  this,  that  from  Christ's  side 

Water  and  blood  should  run  to  cleanse  our  sin  ?  • 

This  is  that  fountain  which  was  opened  wide 
To  purge  all  our  uncleanness  in; 

But  this  the  greater  wonder  is  by  far. 

As  substances  beyond  the  shadows  are. 

Christ  is  that  spiritual  Rock  from  whence 

Two  sacraments  derived  are  to  us; 
Being  the  objects  of  our  faith  and  sense. 

Both  receive  comfort  from  them  thus; 
Rather  than  we  should  faint  our  Rock  turns  Vine, 
And  stays  our  thirst  with  water  and  with  wine. 

But  here's  another  rock,  my  heart, 

Harder  than  adamant;  yet  by  and  by. 
If  by  a  greater  Moses  struck,  'twill  part, 

And  stream  forth  tears  abundantly. 
Strike  then  this  rock,  my  God,  double  the  blow. 
That  for  my  sins,  my  eyes  with  tears  may  flow! 

My  sins  that  pierced  thy  hands,  thy  feet, 

Thy  head,  thy  heart,  and  every  part  of  Thee, 
And  on  the  cross  made  life  and  death  to  meet. 

Death  to  Thyself,  and  life  to  me; 
Thy  very  fall  does  save;  O  happy  strife. 
That  struck  God  dead,  but  raised  man  to  life. 

T.  fVashbourne 
214 


RESTORAllON  VERSE 

/J7.        /  Walk'd  the  Other  Day   to 
Spend  My  Hour 

T  WALK'D  the  other  day,  to  spend  my  hour, 
-^  Into  a  field, 

Where  I  sometimes  had  seen  the  soil  to  yield 

A  gallant  flow'r; 
But  Winter  now  had  ruffled  all  the  bow'r, 
And  curious  store 
I  knew  there  heretofore. 


Yet  I,  whose  search  lov'd  not  to  peep  and  peer 

r  th'  face  of  things. 
Thought  with  myself,  there  might  be  other  springs 

Besides  this  here; 
Which,  like  cold  friends,  sees  us  but  once  a  year; 

And  so  the  flow'r 
Might  have  some  other  bow'r. 

Then  taking  up  what  I  could  nearest  spy, 

I  digg'd  about 
That  place  where  I  had  seen  him  to  grow  out; 

And  by  and  by 
I  saw  the  warm  recluse  alone  to  lie, 

Where  fresh  and  green 
He  liv'd  of  us  unseen. 

Many  a  question  intricate  and  rare 

Did  I  there  strow; 
But  all  I  could  extort  was  that  he  now 

Did  there  repair 

215 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Such  losses  as  befell  him  in  this  air, 
And  would  ere  long 
Come  forth  most  young  and  fair. 

This  past,  I  threw  the  clothes  quite  o'er  his  head; 

And  stung  with  fear 
Of  my  own  frailty,  dropp'd  down  many  a  tear 

Upon  his  bed; 
Then  sighing  whisper'd,  'Happy  are  the  dead! 

What  peace  doth  now 
Rock  him  asleep  below!' 

And  yet,  how  few  believe  such  doctrine  springs 

From  a  poor  root. 
Which  all  the  W  inter  sleeps  here  under  foot. 

And  hath  no  wings 
To  raise  it  to  the  truth  and  light  of  things; 

But  is  still  trod 
By  every  wand'ring  clod. 

O  Thou!  Whose  Spirit  did  at  first  inflame 

And  warm  the  dead, 
And  by  a  sacred  incubation  fed 

With  life  this  frame, 
Which  once  had  neither  being,  form,  nor  name; 

Grant  I  may  so 
Thy  steps  track  here  below. 

That  in  these  masques  and  shadows  I  may  see 

Thy  sacred  way; 
And  by  those  hid  ascents  climb  to  that  day 

Which  breaks  from  Thee, 
2l6 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Who  art  in  all  things,  though  invisibly; 

Show  me  Thy  peace, 

Thy  mercy,  love,  and  ease. 

And  from  this  care,  where  dreams  and  sorrows  reign. 

Lead  me  above, 
Where  light,  joy,  leisure,  and  true  comforts  move 

Without  all  pain; 
There,  hid  in  Thee,  show  me  His  lite  again, 
At  whose  dumb  urn 
Thus  all  the  year  I  mourn! 

H.  Vaughan 


ij8.  Bermudas 

"\"\  THERE  the  remote  Bermudas  ride, 
*  *        In  the  ocean's  bosom  unespied. 
From  a  small  boat,  that  rowed  along. 
The  listening  winds  received  this  song: 

'What  should  we  do  but  sing  His  praise. 
That  led  us  through  the  watery  maze. 
Unto  an  isle  so  long  unknown. 
And  yet  far  kinder  than  our  own  ? 
Where  He  the  huge  sea-monsters  wracks, 
That  lift  the  deep  upon  their  backs; 
He  lands  us  on  a  grassy  stage. 
Safe  from  the  storms,  and  prelate's  rage. 
He  gave  us  this  eternal  spring, 
Which  here  enamels  every  thing. 
And  sends  the  fowls  to  us  in  care, 

217 


THE  BOOK  OF 

On  daily  visits  through  the  air; 
He  hangs  in  shades  the  orange  bright. 
Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night, 
And  does  in  the  pomegranates  close 
Jewels  more  rich  than  Ormus  shows; 
He  makes  the  figs  our  mouths  to  meet. 
And  throws  the  melons  at  our  feet; 
But  apples  plants  of  such  a  price, 
No  tree  could  ever  bear  them  twice; 
With  cedars  chosen  by  His  hand. 
From  Lebanon,  He  stores  the  land. 
And  makes  the  hollow  seas,  that  roar. 
Proclaim  the  ambergris  on  shore; 
He  cast  (of  which  we  rather  boast) 
The  Gospel's  pearl  upon  our  coast. 
And  in  these  rocks  for  us  did  frame 
A  temple  where  to  sound  His  name. 
Oh!  let  our  voice  His  praise  exalt. 
Till  it  arrive  at  Heaven's  vault. 
Which,  thence  (perhaps)  rebounding,  may 
Echo  beyond  the  Mexique  Bay.' 


Thus  sung  they,  in  the  English  boat, 
An  holy  and  a  cheerful  note; 
And  all  the  way,  to  guide  their  chime. 
With  falling  oars  they  kept  the  time. 


A.  Marvel! 


2l8 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

i^g.  Peace 

"|\  /FY  soul,  there  is  a  country 
^^ *-      Far  beyond  the  stars, 
Where  stands  a  winged  sentry 

All  skilful  in  the  wars: 
There,  above  noise  and  danger, 

Sweet  Peace  sits  crown'd  with  smiles. 
And  One  born  in  a  manger 

Commands  the  beauteous  files. 
He  is  thy  gracious  Friend, 

And — O  my  soul  awake! — 
Did  in  pure  love  descend, 

To  die  here  for  thy  sake. 
If  thou  canst  get  but  thither. 

There  grows  the  flower  of  Peace, 
The  Rose  that  cannot  wither. 

Thy  fortress,  and  thy  ease. 
Leave  then  thy  foolish  ranges; 

For  none  can  thee  secure, 
But  One,  who  never  changes, 

Thy  God,  thy  life,  thy  cure. 

H.  Faughan 

140.  Evening  Hymn 

''T^'HE  night  is  come,  like  to  the  day; 

-*■       Depart  not  Thou,  great  God,  away. 
Let  not  my  sins,  black  as  the  night, 
Eclipse  the  lustre  of  thy  light. 
Keep  still  in  my  horizon;  for  to  me 
The  sun  makes  not  the  day,  but  Thee. 

219 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thou  whose  nature  cannot  sleep, 

On  my  temples  sentry  keep! 

Guard  me  'gainst  those  watchful  foes, 

Whose  eyes  are  open  while  mine  close; 

Let  no  dreams  my  head  infest, 

But  such  as  Jacob's  temples  blest. 

While  I  do  rest,  my  soul  advance; 

Make  my  sleep  a  holy  trance. 

That  I  may,  my  rest  being  wrought, 

Awake  into  some  holy  thought; 

And  with  as  active  vigour  run 

My  course  as  doth  the  nimble  sun. 

Sleep  is  a  death;  oh!  make  me  try, 

By  sleeping,  what  it  is  to  die; 

And  as  gently  lay  my  head 

On  my  grave,  as  now  my  bed. 

Howe'er  I  rest,  great  God,  let  me 

Awake  again  at  last  with  Thee. 

And  thus  assured,  behold  I  lie 

Securely,  or  to  wake  or  die. 

These  are  my  drowsy  days;  in  vain 

I  do  now  wake  to  sleep  again: 

Oh!  come  that  hour,  when  I  shall  never 

Sleep  again,  but  wake  for  ever. 


Str  T.  Br 


141.  The  Night 


nPHROUGH  that  pure  virgin  shrine, 

^     That  sacred  veil  drawn  o'er  Thy  glorious  noon, 
That  men  might  look  and  live,  as  glow-worms  shine. 
And  face  the  moon: 
220 


RESTORAIION  VERSE 

Wise  Nicodemus  saw  such  light 

As  made  him  know  his  God  by  night. 

Most  blest  believer  he! 
Who  in  that  land  of  darkness  and  blind  eyes 
Thy  long-expected  healing  wings  could  see 
When  Thou  didst  rise! 
And,  what  can  never  more  be  done, 
Did  at  midnight  speak  with  the  Sun! 

O  who  will  tell  me,  where 
He  found  Thee  at  that  dead  and  silent  hour  ? 
What  hallow'd  solitary  ground  did  bear 
So  rare  a  flower; 
Within  whose  sacred  leaves  did  lie 
The  fulness  of  the  Deity  ? 

No  mercy-seat  ot  gold, 
No  dead  and  dusty  cherub,  nor  carv'd  stone, 
But  His  own  living  works  did  my  Lord  hold 
And  lodge  alone; 
Where  trees  and  herbs  did  watch  and  peep 
And  wonder,  while  the  Jews  did  sleep. 

Dear  Night!  this  world's  defeat; 
The  stop  to  busy  fools;  care's  check  and  curb; 
The  day  of  spirits;  my  soul's  calm  retreat 
Which  none  disturb! 
Christ's  progress,  and  His  prayer-time; 
The  hours  to  which  high  Heaven  doth  chime. 

221 


THE  BOOK  OF 

God's  silent,  searching  flight, 
When  my  Lord's  head  is  fiU'd  with  dew^  and  all 
His  locks  are  wet  with  the  clear  drops  of  night; 
His  still,  soft  call: 
His  knocking-time;  the  soul's  dumb  watch, 
When  spirits  their  fair  kindred  catch. 

Were  all  my  loud,  evil  days 
Calm  and  unhaunted  as  is  thy  dark  tent, 
Whose  peace  but  by  some  angel's  wing  or  voice 
Is  seldom  rent; 
When  I  in  heaven  all  the  long  year 
Would  keep,  and  never  wander  here. 


But  living  where  the  sun 
Doth  all  things  wake,  and  where  all  mix  and  tire 
Themselves  and  others,  I  consent  and  run 
To  ev'ry  mire; 
And  by  this  word's  ill-guiding  light, 
Err  more  than  I  can  do  by  night. 


There  is  in  God — some  say — 
A  deep,  but  dazzling  darkness;  as  men  here 
Say  it  is  late  and  dusky,  because  they 
See  not  all  clear. 
O  for  that  Night!  where  I  in  Him 
Might  live  invisible  and  dim! 

H.  Vaughan 


222 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

142.  Song 

l\/r  ORPHEUS,  the  humble  god,  that  dwells 
-'■'-'•    In  cottages  and  smoky  cells. 
Hates  gilded  roofs  and  beds  of  down; 
And  though  he  fears  no  prince's  frown, 
Flies  from  the  circle  of  a  crown. 

Come,  I  say,  thou  powerful  god, 
And  thy  leaden  charming-rod. 
Dipt  in  the  Lethean  lake, 
O'er  his  wakeful  temples  shake. 
Lest  he  should  sleep,  and  never  wake. 

Nature,  alas  !  why  art  thou  so 

Obliged  to  thy  greatest  foe  ? 

Sleep  that  is  thy  best  repast, 

Yet  of  death  it  bears  a  taste, 

And  both  are  the  same  things  at  last. 

Str  J.  Denhath 

14^.        They  Are  All  Gone  Into   the 
World  of  Light 

'  I  ^HEY  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light! 

-*■  And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here; 

Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 

And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear. 

It  glows  and  glitters  in  my  cloudy  breast, 
Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove, 

223 


rHE  BOOK  OF 

Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  bill  is  dress'd, 
After  the  sun's  remove. 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory, 

Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days: 
My  days,  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary, 
Mere  glimmering  and  decays. 

O  holy  Hope!  and  high  Humility 

High  as  the  heavens  above! 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  show'd  them  me. 
To  kindle  my  cold  love. 

Dear,  beauteous  Death!  the  jewel  of  the  just. 

Shining  nowhere,  but  in  the  dark; 
What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust. 
Could  man  outlook  that  mark! 

He  that  hath  found  some  fledg'd  bird's  nest,  may  know 

At  first  sight,  if  the  bird  be  flown; 
But  what  fair  well  or  grove  he  sings  in  now, 
That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet,  as  angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 

Call  to  the  soul  when  man  doth  sleep. 
So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  wonted  themes, 
And  into  glory  peep. 

If  a  star  were  confin'd  into  a  tomb, 

Her  captive  flames  must  needs  burn  there; 
But  when  the  hand  that  lock'd  her  up,  gives  room, 
She'll  shine  through  all  the  sphere. 
224 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

O  Father  of  eternal  life,  and  all 

Created  glories  under  Thee! 
Resume  Thy  spirit  from  this  world  of  thrall 
Into  true  liberty. 

Either  disperse  these  mists,  which  blot  and  fill 

My  perspective  still  as  they  pass: 
Or  else  remove  me  hence  unto  that  hill 
Where  I  shall  need  no  glass. 

H.  Vaughan 


i^^.  On  His  Deceased  Wife 

1\  /r  ETHOUGHT  I  saw  my  late  espoused  Saint 

^^  *-      Brought  to  me  like  Alcestis  from  the  grave, 
Whom  Joves  great  Son  to  her  glad  Husband  gave, 
Rescu'd  from  death  by  force  though  pale  and  faint. 

Mine  as  whom  washt  from  spot  of  child-bed  taint, 
Purification  in  the  old  Law  did  save. 
And  such,  as  yet  once  more  I  trust  to  have 
Full  sight  of  her  in  Heaven  without  restraint. 

Came  vested  all  in  white,  pure  as  her  mind; 
Her  face  was  vail'd,  yet  to  my  fancied  sight. 
Love,  sweetness,  goodness,  in  her  person  shln'd 

So  clear,  as  in  no  face  with  more  delight. 
But  O  as  to  embrace  me  she  enclin'd 
I  wak'd,  she  fled,  and  day  brought  back  my  night. 

J.  Milton 


225 


THE  BOOK  OF 
14^.  To  Cynthia 

On  her  Mother's  Decease 

A  PRIL  is  past,  then  do  not  shed, 
■^  *-       Nor  do  not  waste  in  vain. 
Upon  thy  mother's  earthy  bed, 
Thy  tears  of  silver  rain. 


Thou  canst  not  hope  that  her  cold  earth, 

By  wat'ring  will  bring  forth 
A  flower  like  thee,  or  will  give  birth 

To  one  of  the  like  worth. 


'Tis  true  the  rain  fall'n  from  the  sky. 

Or  from  the  clouded  air. 
Doth  make  the  earth  to  fructify. 

And  makes  the  heaven  more  fair. 


With  thy  dear  face  it  is  not  so, 

Which  if  once  overcast, 
It  thou  rain  down  thy  showers  of  woe. 

They,  like  the  Sirens',  blast. 


Therefore  when  sorrow  shall  becloud 

Thy  fair  serenest  day, 
Weep  not,  my  sighs  shall  be  allowed 

To  chase  the  storm  away. 
226 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Consider  that  the  teeming  vine, 

If  cut  by  chance  do  weep, 
Doth  bear  no  grapes  to  make  the  wine. 

But  feels  eternal  sleep. 


Sir  F.  Kynaston 


146.  Lycidas 

In   tilts  Monody   the  Author  bewails  a  learned  Friend,  un- 
fortunately drown  d   in    his  Passage  from   Chester   on 
the  Irish  Seas,  1637.    Jnd  by  occasion  fortels  the  mine 
of  our   corrupted  Clergy  then    in   their   height 

"\7'ET  once  more,  O  ye  Laurels,  and  once  more 

^       Ye  Myrtles  brown,  with  Ivy  never-sear, 
I  com  to  pluck  your  Berries  harsh  and  crude, 
And  with  forc'd  fingers  rude. 
Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year. 
Bitter  constraint,  and  sad  occasion  dear. 
Compels  me  to  disturb  your  season  due: 
For  Lycidas  is  dead,  dead  ere  his  prime 
Young  Lycidas,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer: 
Who  would  not  sing  for  Lycidas  ?   he  knew 
Himself  to  sing,  and  build  the  lofty  rhyme. 
He  must  not  flote  upon  his  watry  bear 
Unwept,  and  welter  to  the  parching  wind, 
Without  the  meed  of  som  melodious  tear. 

Begin  then,  Sisters  of  the  sacred  well. 
That  from  beneath  the  seat  of  Jove  doth  spring. 
Begin,  and  somwhat  loudly  sweep  the  string. 

227 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Hence  with  denial  vain,  and  coy  excuse, 

So  may  som  gentle  Muse 

With  lucky  words  favour  my  destin'd  Urn, 

And  as  he  passes  turn, 

And  bid  fair  peace  be  to  my  sable  shrowd. 

For  we  were  nurst  upon  the  self-same  hill. 

Fed  the  same  flock,  by  fountain,  shade,  and  rill. 

Together  both,  ere  the  high  Lawns  appear'd 
Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn, 
We  drove  a  field,  and  both  together  heard 
What  time  the  Gray-fly  winds  her  sultry  horn, 
Batt'ning  our  flocks  with  the  fresh  dews  of  night, 
Oft  till  the  Star  that  rose,  at  Ev'ning,  bright 
Toward  Heav'ns  descent  had  slop'd  his  westering  wheel. 
Mean  while  the  Rural  ditties  were  not  mute, 
Temper'd  to  th'  Oaten  Flute; 

Rough  Satyrs  danc'd,  and  Fauns  with  clov'n  heel. 
From  the  glad  sound  would  not  be  absent  long, 
And  old  Datncetas  lov'd  to  hear  our  song. 

But  O  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gon, 
Now  thou  art  gon,  and  never  m.ust  return! 
Thee  Shepherd,  thee  the  Woods,  and  desert  Caves, 
With  wilde  Thyme  and  the  gadding  Vine  o'regrown, 
And  all  their  echoes  mourn. 
The  Willows,  and  the  Hazel  Copses  green. 
Shall  now  no  more  be  seen, 
Fanning  their  joyous  Leaves  to  thy  soft  layes. 
As  killing  as  the  Canker  to  the  Rose, 
Or  Taint-worm  to  the  weanling  Herds  that  graze, 
Or  Frost  to  Flowers,  that  their  gay  wardrop  wear, 
When  first  the  White  thorn  blows; 
Such,  Lycidas,  thy  loss  to  Shepherds  ear. 
228 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Where  were  ye  Nymphs  when  the  remorseless  deep 
Clos'd  o're  the  head  ot  your  lov'd  Lycidas  ? 
For  neither  were  ye  playing  on  the  steep, 
Where  your  old  Bards,  the  famous  Druids  ly, 
Nor  on  the  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high, 
Nor  yet  where  Deva  spreads  her  wisard  stream: 
Ay  me,  I  fondly  dream! 

Had  ye  bin  there — for  what  could  that  have  don  ? 
What  could  the  Muse  her  self  that  Orpheus  bore, 
The  Muse  her  self,  for  her  inchanting  son 
Whom  Universal  nature  did  lament, 
When  by  the  rout  that  made  the  hideous  roar, 
His  goary  visage  down  the  stream  was  sent, 
Down  the  switt  Hebrus  to  the  Lesbian  shore. 

Alas!  What  boots  it  with  uncessant  care 
To  tend  the  homely  slighted  Shepherds  trade, 
And  strictly  meditate  the  thankles  Muse, 
Were  it  not  better  don  as  others  use. 
To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade. 
Or  with  the  tangles  of  Necera's  hair  ? 
Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise 
(That  last  infirmity  of  Noble  mind) 
To  scorn  delights,  and  live  laborious  dayes; 
But  the  fair  Guerdon  when  we  hope  to  find, 
And  think  to  burst  out  into  sudden  blaze. 
Comes  the  blind  Fury  with  th'  abhorred  shears. 
And  slits  the  thin  spun  life.     But  not  the  praise, 
Phoebus  repli'd,  and  touch'd  my  trembling  ears; 
Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil. 
Nor  in  the  glistering  foil 

Set  off"  to  th'  world,  nor  in  broad  rumour  lies. 
But  hves  and  spreds  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes, 

229 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  perfet  witnes  of  all  judging  Jove  ; 
As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed, 
Of  so  much  fame  in  Heav'n  expect  thy  meed. 

O  Fountain  Arethuse,  and  thou  honour'd  floud, 
Smooth-sliding  Minctiis,  crown'd  with  vocall  reeds, 
That  strain  I  heard  was  of  a  higher  mood: 
But  now  my  Oate  proceeds. 
And  listens  to  the  Herald  of  the  Sea 
That  came  in  Neptune's  plea. 
He  ask'd  the  Waves,  and  ask'd  the  Fellon  winds, 
What  hard  mishap  hath  doom'd  this  gentle  swain  ? 
And  question'd  every  gust  of  rugged  wings 
That  blows  from  oft  each  beaked  Promontory, 
That  knew  not  of  his  story. 
And  sage  Hippotades  their  answer  brings, 
That  not  a  blast  was  from  his  dungeon  stray' d, 
The  Ayr  was  calm,  and  on  the  level  brine. 
Sleek  Panope  with  all  her  sisters  play'd. 
It  was  that  fatall  and  perfidious  Bark 
Built  in  th'  eclipse,  and  rigg'd  with  curses  dark, 
That  sunk  so  low  that  sacred  head  of  thine. 

Next  Camus,  reverend  Sire,  went  footing  slow. 
His  Mantle  hairy,  ?.nd  his  Bonnet  sedge, 
Inwrought  w'th  figures  dim,  and  on  the  edge 
Like  to  that  sanguine  flower  inscrib'd  with  woe. 
Ah ;  Who  hath  reft  (quoth  he)  my  dearest  pledge .'' 
Last  came,  and  last  did  go, 
The  Pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake. 
Two  massy  Keyes  he  bore  of  metals  twain, 
(The  Golden  opes,  the  Iron  shuts  amain) 
He  shook  his  Miter'd  locks,  and  stern  bespake, 
How  well  could  I  have  spar'd  for  thee,  young  swain, 
230 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Anow  of  such  as  for  their  bellies  sake, 

Creep  and  intrude,  and  climb  into  the  fold  ? 

Of  other  care  they  little  reck'ning  make, 

Then  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers  feast. 

And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest. 

Blind  mouthes!  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to  hold 

A  Sheep-hook,  or  have  learn'd  ought  els  the  least 

That  to  the  faithfull  Herdmans  art  belongs! 

What  recks  it  then  ?     What  need  they  ?     They  are  sped; 

And  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs 

Grate  on  their  scrannel  Pipes  of  wretched  straw. 

The  hungry  Sheep  look  up,  and  are  not  fed. 

But  swoln  with  wind,  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw, 

Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread: 

Besides  what  the  grim  Woolf  with  privy  paw 

Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  sed. 

But  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door, 

Stands  ready  to  smite  once,  and  smite  no  more. 

Return  Alpheiis,  the  dread  voice  is  past. 
That  shrunk  thy  streams;  Return  Sicilian  Muse, 
And  call  the  Vales,  and  bid  them  hither  cast 
Their  Bels,  and  Flourets  of  a  thousand  hues. 
Ye  valleys  low  where  the  milde  whispers  use, 
Of  shades  and  wanton  winds,  and  gushing  brooks, 
On  whose  fresh  lap  the  swart  Star  sparely  looks. 
Throw  hither  all  your  quaint  enameld  eyes, 
That  on  the  green  terf  suck  the  honied  showres, 
And  purple  all  the  ground  with  vernal  flowers. 
Bring  the  rathe  Primrose  that  forsaken  dies. 
The  tufted  Crow-toe,  and  pale  Gessamine, 
The  white  Pink,  and  the  Pansie  freakt  with  jeat. 
The  glowing  Violet. 

231 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  Musk-rose,  and  the  well  attir'd  Woodbine. 

With  Cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive  hed, 

And  every  flower  that  sad  embroidery  wears: 

Bid  Amaranthus  all  his  beauty  shed, 

And  Daffadillies  fill  their  cups  with  tears. 

To  strew  the  Laureat  Herse  where  Lycid  lies. 

For  so  to  interpose  a  little  ease. 

Let  our  frail  thoughts  dally  with  false  surmise. 

Ay  me!  Whilst  thee  the  shores,  and  sounding  Seas 

Wash  far  away,  where  ere  thy  bones  are  hurld, 

Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides, 

Where  thou  perhaps  under  the  whelming  tide 

Visit'st  the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  world; 

Or  whether  thou  to  our  moist  vows  deny'd, 

Sleep'st  by  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old. 

Where  the  great  vision  of  the  guarded  Mount 

Looks  toward  Namancos  and  Bayonas  hold; 

Look  homeward  Angel  now,  and  melt  with  ruth. 

And,  O  ye  Dolphins,  watt  the  haples  youth. 

Weep  no  more,  woful  Shepherds  weep  no  more, 
For  Lycidas  your  sorrow  is  not  dead. 
Sunk  though  he  be  beneath  the  watry  floar, 
So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  Ocean  bed. 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head. 
And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new  spangled  Ore, 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky: 
So  Lycidas  sunk  low,  but  mounted  high. 
Through  the  dear  might  of  him  that  walk'd  the  waves 
Where  other  groves,  and  other  streams  along. 
With  Nectar  pure  his  oozy  Lock's  he  laves. 
And  hears  the  unexpressive  nuptiall  Song, 
Li  the  blest  Kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love. 
232 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

There  entertain  him  all  the  Saints  above, 
In  solemn  troops,  and  sweet  Societies 
That  sing,  and  singing  in  their  glory  move, 
And  wipe  the  tears  for  ever  from  his  eyes. 
Now  Lycidas  the  Shepherds  weep  no  more; 
Hence  forth  thou  art  the  Genius  of  the  shore. 
In  thy  large  recompense,  and  shalt  be  good 
To  all  that  wander  in  that  perilous  flood. 

Thus  sang  the  uncouth  Swain  to  th'  Okes  and  rills. 
While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  Sandals  gray, 
He  touch'd  the  tender  stops  of  various  Quills, 
With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Dortck  lay: 
And  now  the  Sun  had  stretch'd  out  all  the  hills. 
And  now  was  dropt  into  the  Western  bay; 
At  last  he  rose,  and  twitch'd  his  Mantle  blew: 
To  morrow  to  fresh  Woods,  and  Pastures  new. 

/.  Milton 

i^J.      On   the  Death  of  Mr.   Crashaw 

TDOET  and  Saint!  to  thee  alone  are  given 

-*-      The  two  most  sacred  names  of  Earth  and  Heaven. 

The  hard  and  rarest  union  which  can  be 

Next  that  of  Godhead  with  Humanity. 

Long  did  the  Muses'  banisht  slaves  abide. 

And  built  vain  Pyramids  to  mortal  pride; 

Like  Moses  thou  (though  spells  and  charms  withstand) 

Hast  brought  them  nobly  home  back  to  their  Holy  Land. 

Ah  wretched  we,  poets  of  earth!  but  thou 
Wert  living  the  same  poet  which  thou'rt  now. 
Whilst  angels  sing  to  thee  their  airs  divine. 
And  joy  in  an  applause  so  great  as  thine. 

233 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Equal  society  with  them  to  hold. 

Thou  need'st  not  make  new  songs,  but  say  the  old. 

And  they  (kind  spirits)  shall  all  rejoice  to  see 

How  little  less  then  they,  exalted  man  may  be. 

Still  the  old  heathen  Gods  in  numbers  dwell, 

The  heavenliest  thing  on  earth  still  keeps  up  hell. 

Nor  have  we  yet  quite  purg'd  the  Christian  land; 

Still  Idols  here,  like  calves  at  Bethel  stand. 

And,  though  Pan's  death  long  since  all  oracles  broke, 

Yet  still  in  rhyme  the  fiend  Apollo  spoke: 

Nay,  with  the  worst  of  heathen  dotage,  we 

(Vain  men!)  the  monster  woman  deify; 

Find  stars,  and  tie  our  fates  there  in  a  face, 

And  Paradise  in  them  by  whom  we  lost  it,  place. 

What  different  faults  corrupt  our  Muses  thus  ? 

Wanton  as  Girls,  as  old  Wives,  fabulous! 

Thy  spotless  Muse,  like  Mary,  did  contain 
The  boundless  Godhead;  she  did  well  disdain 
That  her  eternal  verse  employ'd  should  be 
On  a  less  subject  then  Eternity; 
And  for  a  sacred  mistress  scorn'd  to  take. 
But  her  whom  God  himself  scorn'd  not  his  Spouse  to  make. 
It  (in  a  kind)  her  Miracle  did  do; 
A  fruitful  Mother  was,  and  Virgin  too. 

How  well  (blest  Swan)  did  fate  contrive  thy  death; 
And  made  thee  render  up  thy  tuneful  breath 
In  thy  great  Mistress'  arms,  thou  most  divine 
And  richest  offering  of  Loretto's  shrine! 
Where,  like  some  holy  sacrifice  t'  expire, 
A  fever  burns  thee,  and  Love  lights  the  fire. 
Angels  (they  say)  brought  the  famed  Chapel  there, 
And  bore  the  sacred  load  in  triumph  through  the  air. 
234 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Tis  surer  much  they  brought  thee  there,  and  they, 
And  thou,  their  charge,  went  singing  all  the  way. 

Pardon,  my  Mother  Church,  if  I  consent 
That  angels  led  him  when  from  thee  he  went, 
For  even  in  error  sure  no  danger  is 
When  joined  with  so  much  piety  as  his. 
Ah,  mighty  God!    with  shame  I  speak't,  and  grief. 
Ah,  that  our  greatest  faults  were  in  belief! 
And  our  weak  reason  were  even  weaker  yet. 
Rather  then  thus  our  wills  too  strong  for  it. 
His  faith,  perhaps,  in  some  nice  tenets  might 
Be  wrong;  his  life,  I'm  sure,  was  in  the  right. 
And  I  myself  a  Catholic  will  be. 
So  far  at  least,  great  Saint!   to  pray  to  thee. 

Hail,  Bard  Triumphant!  and  some  care  bestow 
On  us,  the  Poets  Militant  below! 
Opposed  by  our  old  enemy,  adverse  Chance, 
Attacked  by  Envy,  and  by  Ignorance, 
Enchain'd  by  Beauty,  tortur'd  by  Desires, 
Expos'd  by  Tyrant-Love  to  savage  beasts  and  fires. 
Thou  from  low  earth  in  nobler  flames  didst  rise. 
And  like  Elijah,  mount  alive  the  skies. 
Elisha-like  (but  with  a  wish  much  less. 
More  fit  thy  greatness,  and  my  littleness) 
Lo!  here  I  beg  (I  whom  thou  once  didst  prove 
So  humble  to  esteem,  so  good  to  love) 
Not  that  thy  spirit  might  on  me  doubled  be, 
I  ask  but  half  thy  mighty  spirit  for  me. 
And,  when  my  Muse  soars  with  so  strong  a  wing, 
'Twill  learn  of  things  divine,  and  first  of  thee,  to  sing. 

A.  Cowley 


235 


THE  BOOK  OF 

10.      On   the  Death   of  Mr.   U'UUam 
Hervey 

T  T  was  a  dismal,  and  a  fearful  night, 

-'-      Scarce  could  the  Morn  drive  on  th'  unwilling  Light, 

When  Sleep,  Death's  image,  left  my  troubled  breast, 

By  something  liker  Death  possest. 
My  eyes  with  tears  did  uncommanded  flow. 

And  on  my  soul  hung  the  dull  weight 

Of  some  intolerable  fate. 
What  bell  was  that?  Ah  me!  Too  much  I  know. 

My  sweet  companion,  and  my  gentle  peer, 

Why  hast  thou  left  me  thus  unkindly  here, 

Thy  end  for  ever,  and  my  life,  to  moan  ? 
O,  thou  hast  left  me  all  alone! 

Thy  soul  and  body  when  death's  agony 

Besieged  around  thy  noble  heart. 
Did  not  with  more  reluctance  part 

Than  I,  my  dearest  Friend!  do  part  from  thee. 

My  dearest  Friend,  would  I  had  died  for  thee! 
Life  and  this  world  henceforth  will  tedious  be: 
Nor  shall  I  know  hereafter  what  to  do 

If  once  my  griefs  prove  tedious  too. 
Silent  and  sad  I  walk  about  all  day, 

As  sullen  ghosts  stalk  speechless  by 

Where  their  hid  treasures  lie; 
Alas,  my  treasures  gone!  why  do  I  stay? 

He  was  my  Friend,  the  truest  Friend  on  earth; 
A  strong  and  mighty  influence  joined  our  birth; 
2?,6 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Nor  did  we  envy  the  most  sounding  name 
By  friendship  giv'n  of  old  to  fame. 

None  but  his  brethern  he  and  sisters  knew, 

Whom  the  kind  youth  preferr'd  to  me; 
And  ev'n  in  that  we  did  agree, 

For  much  above  myself  I  lov'd  them  too. 


Say,  for  you  saw  us,  ye  immortal  lights, 
How  oft  unwearied  have  we  spent  the  nights  I 
Till  the  Ledaean  stars  so  famed  for  love, 

Wonder'd  at  us  from  above. 
We  spent  them  not  in  toys,  in  lusts,  or  wine; 

But  search  of  deep  Philosophy, 

Wit,  Eloquence,  and  Poetry, 
Arts  which  I  lov'd,  for  they,  my  Friend,  were  thine. 


Ye  fields  of  Cambridge,  our  dear  Cambridge,  say, 
Have  ye  not  seen  us  walking  every  day  .'' 
Was  there  a  tree  about  which  did  not  know 

The  love  betwixt  us  two  ? 
Henceforth,  ye  gentle  trees,  for  ever  fade; 

Or  your  sad  branches  thicker  join. 
And  into  darksome  shades  combine. 
Dark  as  the  grave  wherein  my  Friend  is  laid. 


Henceforth,  no  learned  youths  beneath  you  sing, 
Till  all  the  tuneful  birds  t'  your  boughs  they  bring; 
No  tuneful  birds  play  with  their  wonted  cheer. 
And  call  the  learned  )ouths  to  hear; 


THE  BOOK  OF 

No  whistling  winds  through  the  glad  branches  fly, 

But  all,  with  sad  solemnity, 

Mute  and  unmoved  be, 
Mute  as  the  grave  wherein  my  Friend  does  lie. 

To  him  my  Muse  made  haste  with  e\  ery  strain 
Whilst  it  was  new,  and  warm  yet  from  the  brain. 
He  lov'd  my  worthless  rhymes,  and  like  a  friend 

Would  find  out  something  to  commend. 
Hence  now,  my  Muse,  thou  canst  not  me  delight; 

Be  this  my  latest  verse, 

With  which  I  now  adorn  his  hearse; 
And  this  my  grief,  without  thy  help,  shall  write. 

Had  I  a  wreath  of  bays  about  my  brow 

I  should  contemn  that  flourishing  honour  now, 

Condemn  it  to  the  fire,  and  joy  to  hear 

It  rage  and  cackle  there. 
Instead  of  bays,  crown  with  sad  cypress  me; 

Cypress  which  tombs  does  beautify; 

Not  Phoebus  griev'd  so  much  as  I, 
For  him  who  first  was  made  that  mournful  tree. 

Large  was  his  soul;  as  large  a  soul  as  e'er 

Submitted  to  inform  a  body  here. 

High  as  the  place  'twas  shortly  in  Heav'n  to  have, 

But  low  and  humble  as  his  grave. 
So  high  that  all  the  virtues  there  did  come 

As  to  their  chiefest  seat 

Conspicuous,  and  great; 
So  low  that  for  me  too  it  made  a  room. 
238 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

He  scorn'd  this  busy  world  below,  and  all 
That  we,  mistaken  mortals,  pleasure  call; 
Was  filled  with  innocent  gallantry  and  truth, 

Triumphant  o'er  the  sins  of  youth. 
He,  like  the  stars,  to  which  he  now  is  gone, 

That  shine  with  beams  like  flame, 

Yet  burn  not  with  the  same. 
Had  all  the  light  of  youth,  of  the  fire  none. 

Knowledge  he  only  sought,  and  so  soon  caught. 
As  if  for  him  knowledge  had  rather  sought: 
Nor  did  more  learning  ever  crowded  lie 

In  such  a  short  mortality. 
Whene'er  the  skilful  youth  discoursed  or  writ, 

Still  did  the  notions  throng 

About  his  eloquent  tongue, 
Nor  could  his  ink  flow  faster  than  his  wit. 

So  strong  a  wit  did  nature  to  him  frame, 
As  all  things  but  his  judgment  overcame; 
His  judgment  like  the  heav'nly  moon  did  show, 

Temp'ring  that  mighty  sea  below. 
Oh  had  he  lived  in  learning's  world,  what  bound 

Would  have  been  able  to  controul 

His  over-powering  soul ! 
We  have  lost  in  him  arts  that  not  yet  are  found. 

His  mirth  was  the  pure  spirits  of  various  wit. 
Yet  never  did  his  God  or  friends  forget; 
And  when  deep  talk  and  wisdom  came  in  view, 
Retir'd,  and  gave  to  them  their  due. 

239 


THE  BOOK  OF 

For  the  rich  help  of  books  he  always  took, 

Though  his  own  searching  mind  before 
Was  so  with  notions  written  o'er 

As  if  wise  Nature  had  made  that  her  book. 

So  many  virtues  join'd  in  him,  as  we 

Can  scarce  pick  here  and  there  in  history. 

More  than  old  writers'  practice  e'er  could  reach, 
As  much  as  they  could  ever  teach. 

These  did  religion,  queen  of  virtues  sway. 
And  all  their  sacred  motions  steer. 
Just  like  the  first  and  highest  sphere 

Which  wheels  about,  and  turns  all  heav'n  one  way. 

With  as  much  zeal,  devotion,  piety, 

He  always  liv'd,  as  other  saints  do  die. 

Still  with  his  soul  severe  account  he  kept. 

Weeping  all  debts  out  ere  he  slept. 

Then  down  in  peace  and  innocence  he  lay, 
Like  the  Sun's  laborious  light. 
Which  still  in  water  sets  at  night, 

Unsullied  with  his  journey  of  the  day. 

Wondrous  young  man,  why  wert  thou  made  so  good. 

To  be  snatch'd  hence  ere  better  understood  .? 

Snatch'd  before  half  of  thee  enough  was  seen! 
Thou  ripe,  and  yet  thy  life  but  green! 

Nor  could  thy  friends  take  their  last  sad  farewell, 
But  danger  and  infectious  death 
Maliciously  seiz'd  on  that  breath 

Where  life,  spirit,  pleasure,  always  us'd  to  dwell. 
240 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  happy  Thou,  ta'en  from  this  frantic  age, 

Where  ignorance  and  hypocrisy  does  rage! 

A  fitter  time  for  Heaven  no  soul  e'er  chose. 
The  place  now  only  free  from  those. 

There  'mong  the  blest  thou  dost  for  ever  shine, 
And,  w^heresoe'er  thou  casts  thy  view 
Upon  that  white  and  radiant  crew, 

Seest  not  a  soul  clothed  with  more  light  than  thine. 

And,  if  the  glorious  saints  cease  not  to  know 
Their  wretched  friends  who  fight  with  life  below. 
Thy  flame  to  me  does  still  the  same  abide. 

Only  more  pure  and  rarefied. 
There,  whilst  immortal  hymns  thou  dost  rehearse, 

Thou  dost  with  holy  pity  see 

Our  dull  and  earthly  poesie, 
Where  grief  and  misery  can  be  join'd  with  verse, 

A.  Cowley 


I4g.     An  Epitaph  on   Thomas,   Third 
Lord  Fairfax 

Under  this  stone  does  lie 
One  born  for  Victory. 

T^AIRFAX  the  valiant;  and  only  he 

-■-      Whoe'er,  for  that  alone  a  conqueror  would  be. 

Both  sexes'  virtues  were  in  him  combined: 

He  had  the  fierceness  of  the  manliest  mind, 

And  eke  the  meekness  too  of  womankind. 

241 


THE  BOOK  OF 

He  never  knew  what  Envy  was,  or  Hate. 
His  soul  was  filled  with  worth  and  honesty; 
And  with  another  thing,  quite  out  of  date, 
Called  modesty. 

He  ne'er  seemed  impudent  but  in  the  field,  a  place 
Where  impudence  itself  dares  seldom  show  her  face. 
Had  any  stranger  spied  him  in  the  room 
With  some  of  those  whom  he  had  overcome, 
And  had  not  heard  their  talk,  but  only  seen 

Their  gestures  and  their  mien, 
They  would  have  sworn  he  had,  the  vanquished  been. 
For  as  they  bragged,  and  dreadful  would  app'ear; 
While  they,  their  own  ill  lucks  in  war  repeated: 
His  modesty  still  made  him  blush  to  hear 

How  often  he  had  them  defeated. 

Through  his  whole  life,  the  part  he  bore 

Was  wonderful  and  great. 
And  yet  it  so  appeared  in  nothing  more 

Than  in  his  private  last  retreat. 

For  it's  a  stranger  thing  to  find 

One  man  of  such  a  glorious  mind, 

As  can  dismiss  the  Power  he  has  got; 
Than  millions  of  the  fools  and  braves 
(Thos€  despicable  fools  and  knaves), 

Who  such  a  pother  make. 

Through  dulness  and  mistake. 
In  seeking  after  power,  but  get  it  not. 

When  all  the  nation  he  had  won. 
With  great  expense  of  blood  had  bought, 
242 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Store  great  enough,  he  thought 
Of  fame  and  of  renown: 
He  then  his  arms  laid  down 
With  full  as  little  pride 
As  if  he  had  been  of  his  enemies'  side; 
Or  one  of  them  could  do  that  were  undone. 
He  neither  wealth,  nor  places  sought; 
For  others,  not  himself,  he  fought. 
He  was  content  to  know 
(For  he  had  found  it  so) 
That  when  he  pleased  to  conquer  he  was  able, 
And  left  the  spoil  and  plunder  to  the  rabble. 
He  might  have  been  a  king, 
But  that  he  understood 
How  much  it  is  a  meaner  thing 
To  be  unjustly  Great,  than  honourably  Good. 


This  from  the  world,  did  admiration  draw; 
And  from  his  friends,  both  love  and  awe: 
Remembering  what  in  fight  he  did  before. 

And  his  foes  loved  him  too, 

As  they  were  bound  to  do. 
Because  he  was  resolved  to  fight  no  more. 
So  blessed  of  all,  he  died.     But  far  more  blessed  were  we, 
If  we  were  sure  to  live  till  we  could  see 
A  man  as  great  in  War,  in  Peace  as  just,  as  he. 

G.  Vtlliers,  Duke  of  Buckingham 


243 


THE  BOOK  OF 

150.    On  Mr.  Abraham   Cowley's  Death  and 
Burial  Among  the  Ancient  Poets 

/^~^LD   Chaucer,   like  the  morning  star, 
^-^     To   us   discovers   day  from  far; 
His  light  those  mists  and  clouds  dissolved; 
Which  our  dark  nation  long  involved: 
But  he  descending  to  the  shades, 
Darkness  again  the  age  invades. 
Next,  like  Aurora,  Spenser  rose. 
Whose  purple  blush  the  day  foreshows; 
The  other  three,  with  his  own  fires, 
Phoebus,  the  poets'  god,  inspires; 
By  Shakespeare's,  jonson's,  Fletcher's  lines. 
Our  stage's  lustre  Rome's  outshines: 
These  poets  near  our  princes  sleep. 
And  in  one  grave  their  mansion  keep. 
They  lived  to  see  so  many  days. 
Till  time  has  blasted  all  their  bays; 
But  cursed  be  the  fatal  hour 
That  pluck'd  the  fairest,  sweetest  flower 
That  in  the  Muses'  garden  grew. 
And  amongst  wither'd  laurels  threw. 
Time,  which  made  them  their  fame  outlive, 
To  Cowley  scarce  did  ripeness  give. 
Old  mother-wit,  and  nature  gave 
Shakespeare  and  Fletcher  all  they  have; 
In  Spenser,  and  in  Jonson,  art 
Of  slower  nature  got  the  start; 
But  both  in  him  so  equal  are. 
None  knows  which  bears  the  happiest  share; 
He  melted  not  the  ancient  gold, 
244 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Nor,  with  Ben  Jonson,  did  make  bold 

To  plunder  all  the  Roman  stores 

Of  poets,  and  of  orators. 

Horace's  wit,  and  Virgil's  state 

He  did  not  steal,  but  emulate. 

And  when  he  would  like  them  appear, 

Their  garb,  but  not  their  clothes,  did  wear; 

He  not  from  Rome  alone,  but  Greece, 

Like  Jason,  brought  the  golden  fleece; 

To  him  that  language,  though  to  none 

Of  th'  others,  as  his  own  was  known. 

On  a  stiff  gale,  as  Flaccus  sings, 

The  Theban  swan  extends  his  wings, 

When  through  the  ethereal  clouds  he  flies. 

To  the  same  pitch  our  swan  doth  rise. 

Old  Pindar's  flights  by  him  are  reached, 

When  on  that  gale  his  wings  are  stretched; 

His  fancy  and  his  judgment  such, 

Each  to  the  other  seemed  too  much, 

His  severe  judgment,  giving  law. 

His  modest  fancy  kept  in  awe, 

As  rigid  husbands  jealous  are 

When  they  believe  their  wives  too  fair. 

His  English  streams  so  pure  did  flow, 

As  all  that  saw  and  tasted  know. 

And  for  his  Latin  vein,  so  clear, 

Strong,  full,  and  high  it  doth  appear, 

That  were  immortal  Virgil  here. 

Him,  for  his  judge,  he  would  not  fear; 

Of  that  great  portraiture,  so  true 

A  copy,  pencil  never  drew. 

My  Muse  her  song  had  ended  here, 

245 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  both  their  Genii  straight  appear, 
Joy  and  amazement  her  did  strike, 
Two  twins  she  never  saw  so  Hke. 
'Twas  taught  by  wise  Pythagoras, 
One  soul  might  through  more  bodies  pass. 
Seeing  such  transmigration  there, 
She  thought  it  not  a  fable  here. 
Such  a  resemblance  of  all  parts. 
Life,  death,  age,  fortune,  nature,  arts; 
Then  lights  her  torch  at  theirs,  to  tell. 
And  show  the  world  this  parallel; 
Fixt  and  contemplative  their  looks. 
Still  turning  over  Nature's  books; 
Their  works  chaste,  moral,  and  divine. 
Where  profit  and  delight  combine; 
The]^  gilding  dirt,  in  noble  verse 
Rustic  philosophy  rehearse. 
When  heroes,  gods,  or  god-like  things. 
They  praise,  on  their  exalted  wings 
To  the  celestial  orbs  they  climb. 
And  with  th'  harmonious  spheres  keep  time; 
Nor  did  their  actions  fall  behind 
Their  words,  but  with  like  candour  shin'd; 
Each  drew  fair  characters,  yet  none 
Of  these  they  feign'd,  excels  their  own. 
Both  by  two  generous  princes  loved, 
Who  knew,  and  judged  what  they  approved. 
Yet  having  each  the  same  desire. 
Both  from  the  busy  throng  retire. 
Their  bodies,  to  their  minds  resign'd, 
Cared  not  to  propagate  their  kind; 
Yet  though  both  fell  before  their  hour, 
246 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Time  on  their  ofF-spring  hath  no  power, 
Nor  fire  nor  fate  their  bays  shall  blast, 
Nor  death's  dark  veil  their  day  o'ercast. 

Sir  J.  Denham 


i^i.  Epitaph 

T  T  E  whom  Heaven  did  call  away 
J-  -*-   Out  of  this  hermitage  of  clay, 
Has  left  some  reliques  in  this  urn 
As  a  pledge  of  his  return. 
Meanwhile  the  Muses  do  deplore 
The  loss  of  this  their  paramour; 
With  whom  he  sported  ere  the.  day 
Budded  forth  its  tender  ray. 
And  now  Apollo  leaves  his  lays, 
An  put  on  cypress  for  his  bays; 
The  sacred  Sisters  tune  their  quills 
Only  to  the  blubbering  rills, 
And  while  his  doom  they  think  upon. 
Make  their  own  tears  their  Helicon; 
Leaving  the  two-topt  mount  divine 
To  turn  votaries  to  his  shrine. 

Think  not,  reader,  me  less  blest, 
Sleeping  in  this  narrow  chest. 
Than  if  my  ashes  did  lie  hid 
Under  some  stately  pyramid. 
If  a  rich  tomb  makes  happy,  then 
That  bee  was  happier  far  than  men, 
Who,  busy  in  the  thymy  wood. 
Was  fettered  by  the  golden  flood, 

247 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Which  from  the  amber-weeping  tree 

Distilleth  down  so  plenteously; 

For  so  this  Httle  wanton  elf 

Most  gloriously  enshrined  itself; 

A  tomb  whose  beauty  might  compare 

With  Cleopatra's  sepulchre. 

In  this  little  bed  my  dust 

Incurtained  round  I  here  intrust; 

While  my  more  pure  and  nobler  part 

Lies  entomb'd  in  every  heart. 

Then  pass  on  gently,  ye  that  mourn. 

Touch  not  this  mine  hallowed  urn; 

These  ashes  which  do  here  remain 

A  vital  tincture  still  retain; 

A  seminal  form  within  the  deeps 

Of  this  little  chaos^sleeps 

The  thread  of  life  untwisted  is 

Into  its  first  consistencies; 

Infant  nature  cradled  here 

In  its  principles  appear; 

This  plant  thus  calcined  into  dust 

In  its  ashes  rest  it  must. 

Until  sweet  Psyche  shall  inspire 

A  softening  and  prolific  fire. 

And  in  her  fostering  arms  enfold 

This  heavy  and  this  earthly  mould. 

Then  as  I  am  I'll  be  no  more, 

But  bloom  and  blossom  as  before. 

When  this  cold  numbness  shall  retreat 

By  a  more  than  chymick  heat. 


248 


At 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

752.  An  Epitaph   Upon — 

"pNOUGH;  and  leave  the  rest  to  fame; 

•*— '  'Tis  to  command  her,  but  to  name. 
Courtship,  which,  living,  she  declined, 
When  dead,  to  offer  were  unkind. 
Where  never  any  could  speak  ill. 
Who  would  officious  praises  spill .'' 
Nor  can  the  truest  wit,  or  friend, 
Without  detracting,  her  commend; 
To  say,  she  lived  a  virgin  chaste 
In  this  loose  age  and  all  unlaced; 
Nor  was,  when  vice  is  so  allowed. 
Of  virtue  or  ashamed  or  proud; 
That  her  soul  was  on  Heaven  so  bent. 
No  minute  but  it  came  and  went; 
That,  ready  her  last  debt  to  pay. 
She  summed  her  life  up  every  day; 
Modest  as  morn,  as  mid-day  bright. 
Gentle  as  evening,  cool  as  night: 
'Tis  true;  but  all  too  weakly  said; 
'Twas  more  significant,  she's  dead. 


A.  Marvell 


A  Pagan  Epitaph 

TN  this  marble  buried  lies 

-^    Beauty  may  enrich  the  skies. 

And  add  light  to  Phoebus'  eyes; 


249 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Sweeter  than  Aurora's  air. 
When  she  paints  the  Hhes  fair, 
And  gilds  cowsHps  with  her  hair. 

Chaster  than  the  virgin  spring, 
Ere  her  blossoms  she  doth  bring, 
Or  cause  Philomel  to  sing. 

If  such  goodness  live  'mongst  men, 
Tell  me  it:     I  shall  know  then 
She  is  come  from  Heaven  again. 


IS4-  Epitaph 

TN  this  marble  casket  lies 
-*-   A  matchless  jewel  of  rich  price; 
Whom  Nature  in  the  world's  disdain 
But  showed,  and  put  it  up  again. 


A 


non. 


Anon, 


755.  Epitaph 

O  HE  on  this  clayen  pillow  layed  her  head, 
*^  As  brides  do  use  the  first  to  go  to  bed. 
He  missed  her  soon  and  yet  ten  months  he  trys 
To  live  apart  and  lykes  it  not  and  dyes. 

Anon. 
250 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

1^6.  Epitaph 

T  T  ERE  lies  a  piece  of  Christ;  a  star  in  dust; 

-^  ■*■    A  vein  of  gold;  a  china  dish  that  must 

Be  used  in  heaven,  when  God  shall  feast  the  just. 

R.    Wilde 


757.  The  Valediction 

"\  TAIN  world,  what  is  in  thee  ? 
^       What  do  poor  mortals  see, 
Which  should  esteemed  be 

Worthy  their  pleasure  ? 
Is  it  the  mother's  womb, 
Or  sorrows  which  soon  come, 
Or  a  dark  grave  and  tomb, 

Which  is  their  treasure  ? 
How  dost  thou  man  deceive 

By  thy  vain  glory  ? 
Why  do  they  still  believe 

Thy  false  history  ? 

Is  it  children's  book  and  rod, 
The  labourer's  heavy  load, 
Poverty  undertrod, 

The  world  desireth  ? 
Is  it  distracting  cares, 
Or  heart-tormenting  fears, 
Or  pining  grief  and  tears. 

Which  man  requireth  ? 

251 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Or  is  it  youthful  rage, 

Or  childish  toying; 
Or  is  decrepit  age 

Worth  man's  enjoying  ? 


Is  it  deceitful  wealth, 

Got  by  care,  fraud,  or  stealth, 

Or  short  uncertain  health. 

Which  thus  befool  men  ? 
Or  do  the  serpent's  lies, 
By  the  world's  flatteries 
And  tempting  vanities. 

Still  overrule  them  ? 
Or  do  they  in  a  dream 

Sleep  out  their  season  ? 
Or  borne  down  by  lust's  stream, 

Which  conquers  reason  ? 


The  silly  lambs  to-day 
Pleasantly  skip  and  play, 
Whom  butchers  mean  to  slay, 

Perhaps  to-morrow; 
In  a  more  brutish  sort 
Do  careless  sinners  sport, 
Or  in  dead  sleep  still  snort, 

As  near  to  sorrow; 
Till  life,  not  well  begun. 

Be  sadly  ended. 
And  the  web  they  have  spun 
Can  ne'er  be  mended. 
252 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

What  is  the  time  that's  gone, 
And  what  is  that  to  come  ? 
Is  it  not  now  as  none  ? 

The  present  stays  not. 
Time  posteth,  oh  how  fast! 
Unwelcome  death  makes  haste; 
None  can  call  back  what's  past — 

Judgment  delays  not. 
Though  God  bring  in  the  light, 

Sinners  awake  not; 
Because  hell's  out  of  sight 

They  sin  forsake  not. 

Man  walks  in  a  vain  show; 
They  know,  yet  will  not  know; 
Set  still,  when  they  should  go; 

But  run  for  shadows; 
While  they  might  taste  and  know 
The  living  streams  that  flow, 
And  crop  the  flowers  that  grow, 

In  Christ's  sweet  meadows. 
Life's  better  slept  away 

Than  as  they  use  it; 
In  sin  and  drunken  play 

Vain  men  abuse  it. 

Malignant  world,  adieu! 
Where  no  foul  vice  is  new — 
Only  to  Satan  true, 

God  still  offended; 
Though  taught  and  warned  by  God, 
And  his  chastising  rod, 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Keeps  still  the  way  that's  broad. 

Never  mended. 
Baptismal  vows  some  make. 

But  ne'er  perform  them; 
If  angels  from  heaven  spake, 

'Twould  not  reform  them. 

They  dig  for  hell  beneath, 
They  labour  hard  for  death. 
Run  themselves  out  of  breath 

To  overtake  it. 
Hell  is  not  had  for  naught, 
Damnation's  dearly  bought, 
And  with  great  labour  sought; 

They'll  not  forsake  it. 
Their  souls  are  Satan's  fee — 

He'll  not  abate  it; 
Grace  is  refused  that's  free, 

Mad  sinners  hate  it. 

Is  this  the  world  men  choose. 
For  which  they  heaven  refuse, 
And  Christ  and  grace  abuse. 

And  not  receive  it .? 
Shall  I  not  guilty  be 
Of  this  in  some  degree, 
If  hence  God  would  me  free. 

And  I'd  not  leave  it  ? 
My  soul,  from  Sodom  fly. 

Lest  wrath  there  find  thee; 
Thy  refuge-rest  is  nigh; 

Look  not  behind  thee! 
254 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

There's  none  of  this  ado, 
None  of  this  helHsh  crew; 
God's  promise  is  most  true, 

Boldly  believe  it. 
My  friends  are  gone  before, 
And  I  am  near  the  shore; 
My  soul  stands  at  the  door, 

O  Lord,  receive  it! 
It  trusts  Christ  and  his  merits, 

The  dead  He  raises; 
Join  it  with  blessed  spirits. 

Who  sing  thy  praises. 


R.  Baxter 


255 


The  Book  of  Restoration  Verse 

Book  Second 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

1^8.       Robin  Hood  and  Little  John 

\  1  THEN  Robin  Hood  was  about  twenty  years  old, 
*  *       With  a  hey  down,  down,  and  down; 
He  happen'd  to  meet  Little  John, 
A  jolly  brisk  blade,  right  fit  for  the  trade. 
For  he  was  a  lusty  young  man. 

Though  he  was  call'd  Little,  his  limbs  they  were  large. 

And  his  stature  was  seven  foot  high; 
Wherever  he  came,  they  quak'd  at  his  name. 

For  soon  he  would  make  them  to  fly. 

How  they  came  acquainted,  I'll  tell  you  in  brief, 

If  you  would  but  listen  awhile; 
For  this  very  jest,  amongst  all  the  rest, 

I  think  it  may  cause  you  to  smile. 

For  Robin  Hood  said  to  his  jolly  bowmen, 

'Pray  tarry  you  here  in  this  grove; 
And  see  that  you  all  observe  well  my  call. 

While  thorough  the  forest  I  rove. 

*We  have  had  no  sport  for  these  fourteen  long  days. 

Therefore  now  abroad  will  I  go; 
Now  should  I  be  beat,  and  cannot  retreat, 

My  horn  I  will  presently  blow.' 

Then  did  he  shake  hands  with  his  merry  men  all. 

And  bid  them  at  present  good-by: 
Then,  as  near  a  brook  his  journey  he  took, 

A  stranger  he  chanced  to  espy. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

They  happened  to  meet  on  a  long  narrow  bridge, 

And  neither  of  them  would  give  way; 
Quoth  bold  Robin  Hood,  and  sturdily  stood, 

'I'll  shew  you  right  Nottingham-play'. 

With  that  from  his  quiver  an  arrow  he  drew, 

A  broad  arrow  with  a  goose-wing. 
The  stranger  reply'd,  Til  liquor  thy  hide. 

If  thou  ofFerest  to  touch  the  string.' 

Quoth  bold  Robin  Hood,  'Thou  dost  prate  like  an  ass. 

For  were  I  to  bend  but  my  bow, 
I  could  send  a  dart,  quite  thro'  thy  proud  heart. 

Before  thou  couldst  strike  me  one  blow.' 

'Thou  talkst  like  a  coward,'  the  stranger  reply'd; 

'Well  arm'd  with  a  long  bow  you  stand, 
To  shoot  at  my  breast,  while  I,  I  protest, 

Have  nought  but  a  staff  in  my  hand.' 

'The  name  of  a  coward,*  quoth  Robin,  'I  scorn, 

Wherefore  my  long  bow  I'll  lay  by. 
And  now,  for  thy  sake,  a  staff  will  I  take. 

The  truth  of  thy  manhood  to  try.' 

Then  Robin  Hood  stept  to  a  thicket  of  trees, 
And  choose  him  a  staff  of  ground  oak; 

Now  this  being  done,  away  he  did  run 
To  the  stranger,  and  merrily  spoke: 

'Lo!  see  my  staff  it  is  lusty  and  tough, 
Now  here  on  the  bridge  we  will  play; 
260 


RESIORATION  VERSE 

Whoever  falls  in,  the  other  shall  win, 
The  battle,  and  so  we'll  away.' 

'With  all  my  whole  heart,'  the  stranger  reply'd, 

'I  scorn  in  the  least  to  give  out;' 
This  said,  they  fell  to't  without  more  dispute, 

And  their  staffs  they  did  flourish  about. 

At  first  Robin  he  gave  the  stranger  a  bang. 
So  hard  that  it  made  his  bones  ring: 

The  stranger  he  said,     'This  must  be  repaid, 
I'll  give  you  as  good  as  you  bring. 

'So  long  as  I  am  able  to  handle  my  staff. 
To  die  in  your  debt,  friend,  I  scorn.' 

Then  to  it  each  goes,  and  followed  their  blows, 
As  if  they'd  been  threshing  of  corn. 

The  stranger  gave  Robin  a  crack  on  the  crown, 
Which  caused  the  blood  to  appear; 

Then  Robin,  enraged,  more  fiercely  engaged. 
And  followed  his  blows  more  severe. 

So  thick  and  so  fast  did  he  lay  it  on  him. 

With  a  passionate  fury  and  ire; 
At  every  stroke,  he  made  him  to  smoke. 

As  if  he  had  been  all  on  fire. 

O  then  into  fury  the  stranger  he  grew, 

And  gave  him  a  damnable  look. 
And  with  it  a  blow,  that  laid  him  full  low, 

And  tumbled  him  into  the  brook 


261 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'  I  prithee,  good  fellow,  where  art  thou  now  ?' 

The  stranger,  in  laughter,  he  cried; 
Quoth  bold  Robin  Hood,     'Good  faith,  in  the  flood, 

And  floating  along  with  the  tide. 

*I  needs  must  acknowledge  thou  art  a  brave  soul, 

With  thee  I'll  no  longer  contend; 
For  needs  must  I  say,  thou  has  got  the  day. 

Our  battle  shall  be  at  an  end.' 

Then  unto  the  bank  he  did  presently  wade, 

And  pulled  himself  out  by  a  thorn; 
Which  done,  at  the  last,  he  blowed  a  loud  blast 

Straightway  on  his  fine  bugle-horn: 

The  echo  of  which  through  the  valleys  did  fly, 

At  which  his  stout  bowmen  appeared. 
All  clothed  in  green,  most  gay  to  be  seen. 

So  up  to  their  master  they  steered. 

'O,  what's  the  matter.?'  quoth  William  Stutely, 

'Good  master  you  are  wet  to  the  skin.' 
'No  matter,'  quoth  he,  'the  lad  which  you  see 

In  fighting,  hath  tumbled  me  in,' 

'He  shall  not  go  scot-free,'  the  others  reply'd. 

So  straight  they  were  seizing  him  there. 
To  duck  him  likewise:  but  Robin  Hood  cries, 

'He  is  a  stout  fellow,  forbear. 

'There's  no  one  shall  wrong  thee,  friend,  be  not  afraid; 
These  bowmen  upon  me  do  wait; 
262 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

There's  three  score  and  nine;  if  thou  wilt  be  mine, 
Thou  shalt  have  my  livery  straight. 

'And  other  accoutrements  fit  for  a  man; 

Speak  up,  jolly  blade,  never  fear: 
I'll  teach  you  also  the  use  of  the  bow, 

To  shoot  at  the  fat  fallow-deer.' 

'O,  here  is  my  hand,'  the. stranger  reply'd, 
'I'll  serve  you  with  all  my  whole  heart; 

My  name  is  John  Little,  a  man  of  good  mettle; 
Ne'er  doubt  me,  for  I'll  play  my  part.' 

'  His  name  shall  be  alter'd,'  quoth  William  Stutely, 

'And  I  will  his  godfather  be: 
Prepare  then  a  feast,  and  none  of  the  least, 

For  we  will  be  merry,'  quoth  he. 

They  presently  fetched  him  a  brace  cf  fat  does. 
With  humming  strong  liquor  likewise; 

They  loved  what  was  good;  so,  in  the  green  wood, 
This  pretty  sweet  babe  they  baptize. 

He  was,  I  must  tell  you,  but  seven  foot  high, 

And,  may  be,  an  ell  in  the  waist; 
A  pretty  sweet  lad;  much  feasting  they  had; 

Bold  Robin  the  christening  graced. 

With  all  his  bowmen,  which  stood  in  a  ring, 

And  were  of  the  Nottingham  breed; 
Brave  Stutely  comes  then,  with  seven  yeomen, 

And  did  in  this  manner  proceed: 

263 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'This  infant  was  called  John  Little,'  quoth  he; 

'Which  name  shall  be  changed  anon: 
The  words  we'll  transpose;  so  wherever  he  goes, 

His  name  shall  be  called  Little  John.' 

They  all  with  a  shout  made  the  elements  ring; 

So  soon  as  the  office  was  o'er, 
To  feasting  they  went,  with  true  merriment, 

And  tippled  strong  liquor  gillore. 

Then  Robin  he  took  the  pretty  sweet  babe, 
And  clothed  him  from  top  to  the  toe 

In  garments  ot  green,  most  gay  to  be  seen, 
And  gave  him  a  curious  long  bow. 

'Thou  shalt  be  an  archer  as  well  as  the  best, 
And  range  in  the  greenwood  with  us; 

Where  we'll  not  want  gold  nor  silver,  behold, 
While  bishops  have  ought  in  their  purse. 

'We  live  here  like  'squires,  or  lords  of  renown. 

Without  e'er  a  foot  of  free  land; 
We  feast  on  good  cheer,  with  wine,  ale,  and  beer, 

And  everything  at  our  command.' 

Then  music  and  dancing  did  finish  the  day; 

At  length,  when  the  sun  waxed  low. 
Then  all  the  whole  train  the  grove  did  refrain, 

And  unto  their  caves  they  did  go. 
264 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  so  ever  after,  as  long  as  he  liv'd, 
Although  he  was  proper  and  tall, 

Yet,  nevertheless,  the  truth  to  express, 
Still  Little  John  they  did  him  call. 


i^g.  Robin  Hood  and  ihe  King 

The  Seventh   Fytte  of  a   Gest  of  Rohm   Hood 

"  I  "he  kynge  came  to  Notynghame, 
-*-       With  knyghtes  in  grete  araye. 
For  to  take  that  gentyll  knyght 
And  Robyn  Hode,  and  yf  he  may. 

He  asked  men  of  that  countre. 

After  Robyn  Hode, 
And  after  that  gent\il  knyght, 

That  was  so  bolde  and  stout. 

Whan  they  had  tolde  hym  the  case 
Our  kynge  understode  ther  tale, 

And  seased  in  his  honde 
The  knyghtes  londes  all. 

All  the  passe  of  Lancasshyre 

He  went  both  feere  and  nere, 
Tyll  he  came  to  Plomton  Parke; 

He  faylyd  many  of  his  dere. 


There  our  kynge  was  want  to  se 
Herdes  many  one. 


265 


THE  BOOK  OF 

He  coud  unneth  fynde  one  dere, 
That  bare  ony  good  home. 

The  kynge  was  wonder  wroth  with  all, 

And  swore  by  the  Trynyte, 
*I  wolde  I  had  Robyn  Hode, 

With  eyen  I  myght  hym  se. 

'And  he  that  wolde  smyte  of  the  knyghtes  hede, 

And  brynge  it  to  me, 
He  shall  have  the  knyghtes  londes, 

Syr  Rycharde  at  the  Le. 

*I  give  it  hym  with  my  charter. 

And  sele  it  with  my  honde, 
To  have  and  holde  for  ever  more. 

In  all  mery  Englonde.' 

Than  bespake  a  fayre  olde  knyght, 

That  was  treue  in  his  fay: 
*A,  my  leege  lorde  the  kynge. 

One  worde  I  shall  you  say. 

'There  is  no  man  in  this  countre 

May  have  the  knyghtes  londes, 
Whyle  Robyn  Hode  may  ryde  or  gone, 

And  here  a  bowe  in  his  hondes, 

'That  he  ne  shall  lese  his  hede. 

That  is  the  best  ball  in  his  hode: 
Give  it  no  man,  my  lorde  the  kynge, 

That  ye  wyll  any  good.' 
266 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Half  a  yere  dwelled  our  comly  kynge 
In  Notyngham,  and  well  more; 

Coude  he  not  here  of  Robyn  Hode, 
In  what  countre  that  he  were. 

But  alway  went  good  Robyn 

By  halke  and  eke  by  hyll, 
And  alway  slewe  the  kynges  dere, 

And  welt  them  at  his  wyll. 

Than  bespake  a  proude  fostere, 
That  stode  by  our  kynges  kne: 

'Yf  ye  wyll  see  good  Robyn, 
Ye  must  do  after  me. 

'Take  fyve  of  the  best  knyghtes 

That  be  in  your  lede, 
And  walke  downe  by  yon  abbay, 

And  gete  you  monkes  wede. 

'And  I  wyll  be  your  ledes-man, 

And  lede  you  the  way, 
And  or  ye  come  to  Notyngham, 

Myn  hede  then  dare  I  lay, 

'That  ye  shall  mete  with  good  Robyn, 

On  lyve  yf  that  he  be; 
Or  ye  come  to  Notyngham, 

With  eyen  ye  shall  hym  se.' 

Full  hastely  our  kynge  was  dyght. 
So  were  his  knyghtes  fyve, 


267 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Everych  ot  rheni  in  monkes  wede, 
And  hasted  them  thyder  blyve. 

Our  kynge  was  grete  above  his  cole, 
A  brode  hat  on  his  crowne, 

Ryght  as  he  were  abbot-lyke, 
They  rode  up  into  the  towne. 

Styf  botes  our  kynge  had  on, 

Forsoth  as  I  you  say; 
He  rode  syngynge  to  grene  wode, 

The  covent  was  clothed  in  graye. 

His  male-hors  and  his  grete  somers 
Folowed  our  kynge  behynde, 

Tyll  they  came  to  grene  wode, 
A  myle  under  the  lynde. 

There  they  met  with  good  Robvn, 

Stondynge  on  the  waye, 
And  so  dyde  many  a  bolde  archere, 

For  soth  as  I  you  say. 

Robyn  toke  the  kynges  hors, 

Hastely  in  that  stede. 
And  sayd,     'Syr  abbot,  by  voui  leve, 

A  whyle  ye  must  abvde. 

'We  be  yemen  of  this  foreste. 
Under  the  grene-wode  tre; 

We  lyve  by  our  kynges  dere. 
Other  shift  have  not  wee. 
268 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'And  ye  have  chyrches  and  rentes  both, 

And  gold  full  grete  plente; 
Gyve  us  some  of  your  spendynge, 

For  saynt  chartye.' 

Than  bespake  our  cumly  kynge, 

Anone  than  sayde  he; 
'I  broifght  no  more  to  grene-wode 

But  forty  pounde  with  me. 

*I  have  layne  at  Notyngham, 

This  fourtynyght  with  our  kynge, 

And  spent  I  have  full  moche  good 
On  many  a  grete  lordynge. 

'And  I  have  but  forty  pounde. 

No  more  than  have  I  me: 
But  if  I  had  an  hondred  pounde, 

I  would  give  it  to  thee.' 

Robyn  toke  the  forty  pounde. 

And  departed  it  in  two  partye; 
Halfendell  he  gave  his  mery  men, 

And  bad  them  mery  to  be. 

Full  curteysly  Robyn  gan  say; 

'Syr,  have  this  for  your  spendvng; 
We  shall  mete  another  day.' 

'Gramercy,'  than  sayd  our  kynge. 

'But  well  the  greteth  Edwardc,  our  kynge. 
And  sent  to  the  his  scale, 

269 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  byddeth  the  com  to  Notyngham, 
Both  to  mete  and  mele.' 

He  toke  out  the  brode  targe, 

And  sone  he  lete  hym  se; 
Robyn  coud  his  courteysy, 

And  set  hym  on  his  kne. 

'I  love  no  man  in  all  the  worlde 
So  well  as  I  do  my  kynge; 

Welcome  is  my  lordes  scale; 
And,  monke,  for  thy  tydynge, 

'Syr  abbot,  for  thy  tydynges, 

Today  thou  shalt  dyne  with  me, 

For  the  love  of  my  kynge, 
Under  my  trystell-tre.' 

Forth  he  lad  our  comly  kynge, 

Full  fayre  by  the  honde; 
Many  a  dere  there  was  slayne, 

And  full  fast  dyghstande. 

Robyn  toke  a  full  grete  home, 

And  loude  he  gan  blowe; 
Seven  score  of  wyght  yonge  men 

Came  redy  on  a  rowe. 

All  they  kneled  on  thyr  kne, 

Full  fayre  before  Robyn: 
The  kynge  sayd  hym  selfe  untyll. 

And  sore  by  Saynt  Austyn, 
270 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Here  is  a  wonder  semely  sight; 

Me  thynketh,  by  Goddes  pyne, 
His  men  are  more  at  his  byddynge 

Then  my  men  be  at  myn.* 

Full  hastely  was  theyr  dyner  idyght, 

And  therto  gan  they  gone; 
They  served  our  kynge  with  all  theyr  myght, 

Both  Robyn  and  Lytell  Johan. 

Anone  before  our  kynge  was  set 

The  fatte  venyson, 
The  good  whyte  brede,  the  good  rede  wyne, 

And  therto  the  fyne  ale  and  browne. 

'Make  good  chere/  said  Robyn, 

'Abbot,  for  chartye; 
And  for  this  ylke  tydynge, 

Blyssed  mote  thou  be. 

'Now  shake  thou  se  what  lyfe  we  lede, 

Or  thou  hens  wende; 
Than  thou  may  enfourme  our  kynge. 

Whan  ye  togyder  lende.' 

Up  they  sterte  all  in  hast, 

Theyr  bowes  were  swartly  bent; 

Our  kynge  was  never  so  sore  agast, 
He  wende  to  have  be  shente. 


Two  yerdes  there  were  up  set. 
Thereto  gan  they  gauge; 


271 


THE  BOOK  OF 

By  fyfty  pase,  our  kynge  sayd, 
The  merkes  were  to  longe. 

On  every  syde  a  rose-garlonde, 

They  shot  under  the  lyne: 
'Who  so  fayleth  of  the  rose-garlonde,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'His  takyll  he  shall  tyne, 

'And  yelde  it  to  his  mayster, 

Be  it  never  so  fyne; 
For  no  man  wyll  I  spare, 

So  drynke  I  ale  or  wyne; 

'And  here  a  buffet  on  his  hede, 

I-wys  ryght  all  bare:' 
And  all  that  fell  in  Robyns  lote. 

He  smote  them  wonder  sare. 

Twyse  Robyn  shot  aboute, 

And  ever  he  cleved  the  wande. 
And  so  dyde  good  Gylberte 

With  the  whyte  hande. 

Lytell  johan  and  good  Scathelocke, 

For  nothynge  wolde  they  spare; 
When  they  fayled  of  the  garlonde, 

Robyn  smote  them  full  sare. 

At  the  last  shot  that  Robyn  shot, 

For  all  his  frendes  fare, 
Yet  he  fayled  of  the  garlonde 

Thre  fyngers  and  mare. 
272 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Than  bespake  good  Gylberte, 

And  thus  he  gan  say; 
'Mayster,'  he  sayd,  'your  takyll  is  lost, 

Stande  forth  and  take  your  pay  ?' 

'If  it  be  so,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'That  may  no  better  be, 
Syr  abbot,  I  delyver  the  myn  arowe, 

I  pray  the,  syr,  serve  thou  me.' 

'It  falleth  not  for  myn  ordre,'  sayd  our  kynge, 

'Robyn,  by  thy  leve. 
For  to  smyte  no  good  yenian, 

For  doute  I  sholde  hym  greve.' 

'Smyte  on  boldely,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'I  give  the  large  leve;' 
Anone  our  kynge,  with  that  worde. 

He  folde  up  his  sieve. 

And  sych  a  buffet  he  gave  Robyn, 

To  grounde  he  yede  full  nere: 
'I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'Thou  arte  a  stalworthe  frere.' 

'There  is  pith  in  thyn  arme,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'I  trowe  thou  canst  well  shcte;' 
Thus  our  kynge  and  Robyn  Hode 

Togeder  gan  they  mete. 


Robyn  behelde  our  comly  kynge 
Wystly  in  the  face. 


vz 


IHE  BOOK  OF 

So  dyde  Syr  Rycharde  at  the  Le, 
And  kneled  downe  in  that  place. 

And  so  dyde  all  the  wylde  outlawes. 

Whan  they  se  them  knele: 
'My  lorde  the  kynge  of  Englonde, 

Now  I  knowe  you  well.' 

'Mercy  then,  Robyn,'  sayd  our  kynge 

'Under  your  trystyll-tre, 
Of  thy  goodnesse  and  thy  grace, 

For  my  men  and  me!" 

'Yes,  for  God,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'And  also  God  me  save, 
I  aske  mercy,  my  lorde  the  kynge. 

And  tor  my  men  I  crave.' 

'Yes,  for  God,'  than  sayd  our  kynge, 

'And  therto  sent  I  me. 
With  that  thou  !eve  the  grene  wode. 

And  all  thy  company; 

'And  come  home,  syr,  to  my  courte. 

And  there  dwell  with  me.' 
'I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  sayd  Robyn 

'And  ryght  so  shall  it  be. 

'I  wyll  come  to  your  courte, 

Your  servyse  for  to  se. 
And  brynge  with  me  of  my  men 

Seven  score  and  thre. 

274 


RESTORATIOiN  VERSE 

'But  me  lyke  well  your  servyse, 

I  will  come  agayne  full  sone, 
And  shote  at  the  donne  dere, 

As  I  am  wonte  to  done.' 

Anon 

i6o.      Robin  Hood  and  AUin  a  Dale 

COME  listen  to  me,  you  gallants  so  free, 
All  you  that  loves  mirth  for  to  hear, 
And  I  will  you  tell  of  a  bold  outlaw, 
That  lived  in  Nottinghamshire. 

As  Robin  Hood  in  the  forest  stood, 

All  under  the  green-wood  tree, 
There  he  was  aware  of  a  brave  young  man, 

As  fine  as  fine  might  be. 

The  youngster  was  clothed   in  scarlet  red, 

In  scarlet  fine  and  gay; 
And  he  did  frisk  it  over  the  plain, . 

And  chanted  a  roundelay. 

As  Robin  Hood  next  morning  stood, 

Amongst  the  leaves  so  gay, 
There  did  he  espy  the  same  young  man 

Come  drooping  along  the  way. 

The  scarlet  he  wore  the  day  before. 

It  was  clean  cast  away; 
And  at  every  step  he  fetcht  a  sigh, 

'Alack  and  a  well  a  day!' 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Then  stepped  forth  brave  Little  John, 

And  Nick  the  miller's  son, 
Which  made  the  young  man  bend  his  bow, 

When  as  he  see  them  come. 

'Stand  oflF,  stand  off,'  the  young  man  said, 

'What  is  your  will  with  me  r' 
'You  must  come  before  our  master  straight, 

Under  yon  green-wood  tree.' 

And  when  he  came  bold  Robin  before, 

Robin  askt  him  courteously, 
'O  hast  thou  any  money  to  spare 

For  my  merry  men  and  me  ?' 

'I  have  no  money,'  the  young  man  said, 

'  But  five  shillings  and  a  ring; 
And  that  I  have  kept  this  seven  long  years, 

To  have  it  at  my  wedding. 

'Yesterday  I  should  have  married  a  maid. 

But  she  is  now  from  me  tane, 
And  chosen  to  be  an  old  knight's  delight, 

Whereby  my  poor  heart  is  slain.* 

'What  is  thy  name  ?'  then  said  Robin  Hood, 

'Come  tell  me,  without  any  fail:' 
'By  the  faith  of  my  body,'  then  said  the  young  man, 

'My  name  it  is  Allin  a  Dale.' 

'What  wilt  thou  give  me,'  said  Robin  Hood, 
'In  ready  gold  or  fee, 
2^6 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

To  help  thee  to  tliy  true  love  again, 
And  deliver  her  unto  thee  ?' 

*I  have  no  money,'  then  quoth  the  young  man, 

'No  ready  gold  nor  fee, 
But  I  will  swear  upon  a  book 

Thy  true  servant  for  to  be.' 

'How  many  miles  is  it  to  thy  true  love? 

Come  tell  me  without  any  guile:' 
'By  the  faith  of  my  body,'  then  said  the  young  man, 

'It  is  but  five  little  mile.' 

Then  Robin  he  hasted  over  the  plain. 

He  did  neither  stint  nor  lin. 
Until  he  came  unto  the  church, 

Where  Allin  should  keep  his  wedding. 

'What  dost  thou  do  here  ?'    the  bishop  he  said, 

'I  prithee  now  tell  to  me:' 
'I  am  a  bold  harper,'  quoth  Robin  Hood, 

'And  the  best  in  the  north  countrey.' 

'O  welcome,  O  welcome,'  the  bishop  he  said, 

'That  musick  best  pleaseth  me;' 
'You  shall  have  no  musick,'  quoth  Robin  Hood, 

'Till  the  bride  and  the  bridegroom  I  see.' 

With  that  came  in  a  wealthy  knight, 

Which  was  both  grave  and  old. 
And  after  him  a  finikin  lass, 

Did  shine  like  the  glistering  gold. 

^77 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'This  is  no  fit  match,'  quoth  bold  Robin  Hood, 
'That  you  do  seem  to  make  here; 

For  since  we  are  come  unto  the  church, 
The  bride  shall  chuse  her  own  dear.' 

Then  Robin  Hood  put  his  horn  to  his  mouth, 

And  blew  blasts  two  or  three; 
When  four  and  twenty  bowmen  bold 

Came  leaping  over  the  lee. 

And  when  they  came  into  the  church-yard, 

Marching  all  on  a  row, 
The  first  man  was  Allin  a  Dale, 

To  give  bold  Robin  his  bow. 

'This  is  thy  true-love,'  Robin  he  said, 

'Young  Allin,  as  I  hear  say; 
And  you  shall  be  married  at  this  same  time, 

Before  we  depart  away.' 

'That  shall  not  be,'  the  bishop  he  said, 

'For  thy  word  shall  not  stand; 
They  shall  be  three  times  askt  in  the  church. 

As  the  law  is  of  our  land.' 

Robin  Hood  pull'd  off  the  bishop's  coat, 

And  put  it  upon  Little  John; 
'By  the  faith  of  my  bodv,'  then  Robin  said, 

'This  cloath  doth  make  thee  a  man.' 

When  Little  John  went  into  the  quire, 
The  people  began  for  to  laugh; 
278 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

He  askt  them  seven  times  in  the  church, 
Lest  three  times  should  not  be  enough. 

'Who  gives  me  this  maid,'  then  said  Little  John; 

Quoth  Robin,  'That  do  I, 
And  he  that  doth  take  her  from  Allin  a  Dale 

Full  dearly  he  shall  her  buy.' 

And  thus  having  ended  this  merry  wedding, 
The  bride  lookt  as  fresh  as  a  queen. 

And  so  they  returned  to  the  merry  greenwood, 
Amongst  the  leaves  so  green. 


A 


non. 


i6i.  Robin  Hood  Rescuing  the  JFidow'z 
Three  Sons 

'T^HERE  are  twelve  months  in  all  the  year, 

-*■  As  I  hear  many  men  say, 

But  the  merriest  month  in  all  the  year 
Is  the  merry  month  of  May. 

Now  Robin  Hood  is  to  Nottingham  gone, 

With  a  link  a  down  and  a  day, 
And  there  he  met  a  silly  old  woman, 

Was  weeping  on  the  way. 

'What  news  ?  what  news,  thou  silly  old  woman  ? 

What  news  hast  thou  for  me  ?' 
Said  she,  'There's  three  squires  in  Nottingham  town 

To-day  condemned  to  die.' 

279 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'O,  have  they  parishes  burnt  ?'  he  said, 

'Or  have  they  ministers  slain  ? 
Or  have  they  robbed  any  virgin  ? 

Or  other  men's  wives  have  lain  ?' 

'They  have  no  parishes  burnt,  good  sir, 

Nor  yet  have  ministers  slain, 
Nor  have  they  robbed  any  virgin, 

Nor  other  men's  wives  have  lain.' 

'O,  what  have  they  doner'  said  Robin  Hood, 

'I  pray  thee  tell  to  me.' 
'It's  for  slaying  of  the  king's  fallow-deer, 

Bearing  their  long  bows  with  thee.' 

'Dost  thou  not  mind,  old  woman,'  he  said, 
'How  thou  madest  me  sup  and  dine.'' 

By  the  truth  of  my  body,'  quoth  bold  Robin  Hood, 
'You  could  not  tell  it  in  better  time.' 

Now  Robin  Hood  is  to  Nottingham  gone. 

With  a  link  a  down  and  a  day, 
And  there  he  met  with  a  silly  old  palmer. 

Was  walking  along  the  highway. 

'What  news.?  what  news,  thou  silly  old  man? 

'What  news,  I  do  thee  pray.?' 
Said  he,  'Three  squires  in  Nottingham  town 

Are  condemned  to  die  this  day.' 

'Come  change  thy  apparel  with  me,  old  man. 
Come  change  thy  apparel  for  mine; 
280 


RESTORAllON  VERSE 

Here  is  forty  shillings  in  good  silver, 
Go  drink  it  in  beer  or  wine.' 

'O,  thine  apparel  is  good,'  he  said, 

'And  mine  is  ragged  and  torn; 
Wherever  you  go,  wherever  you  ride, 

Laugh  neer  an  old  man  to  scorn.' 

'Come  change  thy  apparel  with  me,  old  churl. 
Come  change  thy  apparel  with  mine: 

Here  are  twenty  pieces  of  good  broad  gold, 
Go  feast  thy  brethren  with  wine.' 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man's  hat. 

It  stood  full  high  on  the  crown: 
'The  first  bold  bargain  that  I  come  at, 

It  shall  make  thee  come  down.' 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man's  cloak, 

Was  patched  black,  blew,  and  red; 
He  thought  it  no  shame  all  the  day  long, 

To  wear  the  bags  of  bread. 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man's  breeks. 

Was  patched  from  ballup  to  side: 
'  By  the  truth  of  my  body,'  bold  Robin  can  say, 

'This  man  loved  little  pride.' 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man's  hose, 

Were  patched  from  knee  to  wrist: 
'  By  the  truth  of  my  body,'  said  bold  Robin  Hood, 

'I'd  laugh  if  I  had  any  list.' 

281 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Then  he  put  on  the  old  man's  shoes, 
Were  patched  both  beneath  and  aboon; 

Then  Robin  Hood  swore  a  solemn  oath, 
'It's  o-ood  habit  that  makes  a  man.' 


Now  Robin  Hood  is  to  Nottingham  gone, 
With  a  Hnk  a  down  and  a  down, 

And  there  he  met  with  the  proud  sheriff, 
Was  walking  along  the  town. 

'O  save,  O  save,  sheriff!'  he  said; 

'O  save,  and  you  may  seel 
And  what  will  you  give  to  a  silly  old  man 

To-day  will  your  hangman  be  ?' 

'Some  suits,  some  suits,'  the  sheriff  he  said, 

'Some  suits,  I'll  give  to  thee; 
Some  suits,  some  suits,  and  pence  thirteen, 

To-day's  a  hangman's  fee.' 

Then  Robin  he  turns  him  round  about. 

And  jumps  from  stock  to  stone: 
'By  the  truth  of  my  body,'  the  sheriff  he  said, 

'That's  well  jumpt,  thou  nimble  old  man.' 

'I  was  ne'er  a  hangman  in  all  my  life, 

Nor  yet  intends  to  trade; 
But  curst  be  he,'  said  bold  Robin  Hood, 

'That  first  a  hangman  was  made! 
282 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'I've  a  bag  for  meal,  and  a  bag  for  malt, 

And  a  bag  for  barley  and  corn; 
A  bag  for  bread,  and  a  bag  for  beef, 

And  a  bag  for  my  little  horn. 

*I  have  a  horn  in  my  pocket, 

I  got  it  from  Robin  Hood, 
And  still  when  I  set  it  to  my  mouth, 

For  thee  it  blows  little  good.' 

*0,  wind  thy  horn,  thou  proud  fellow, 
Of  thee  I  have  no  doubt. 
I  wish  that  thou  gave  such  a  blast 
Till  both  thy  eyes  fall  out.' 

The  first  loud  blast  that  he  did  blow. 

He  blew  both  loud  and  shrill; 
A  hundred  and  fifty  of  Robin  Hood's  men 

Came  riding  over  the  hill.         , 

The  next  loud  blast  that  he  did  give. 

He  blew  both  loud  and  amain, 
And  quickly  sixty  of  Robin  Hood's  men 

Carne  shining  over  the  plain. 

*0,  who  are  these,'  the  sherifl  he  said, 

'Come  tripping  over  the  lee  ?' 
'They're  my  attendants,'  brave  RoDin  did  say; 

'They'll  pay  a  visit  to  thee.' 

283 


THE  BOOK  OF 

They  took  the  gallows  from  the  slack, 

They  set  it  in  the  glen, 
They  hanged  the  proud  sheriff  on  that. 

Released  their  own  three  men. 


162.  Robin  Hood  and  the  Monk 

T  N  somer,  when  the  shawes  be  sheyne, 
^       And  leves  be  large  and  longe. 
Hit  is  full  mery  in  fey  re  foreste 
To  here  the  foulys  song. 

To  se  the  dere  draw  to  the  dale. 

And  leve  the  hilles  hee, 
And  shadow  hem  in  the  leves  grene, 

Undur  the  grene-wode  tre. 

Hit  befel  on  Whitsontide, 

Erly  in  a  May  mornyng, 
The  son  up  fayre  can  shyne, 

And  the  briddis  mery  can  syng. 

'This  is  a  mery  mornyng,'  seid  Litull  John, 

'  Be  hym  that  dyed  on  tre; 
A  more  mery  man  than  I  am  one 

Lyves  not  in  Cristiande.' 

*Pluk  up  thi  hert,  my  dere  mayster,' 

Litull  John  can  sey, 
'And  thynk  hit  is  a  full  fayre  tyme 

In  a  mornyng  of  may.' 
284 


Anc 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

*Ye,  on  thynge  greves  me,'  seid  Robyn, 

'And  does  my  hert  mych  woo, 
That  I  may  nor  no  solem  day 

Yo  mas  nor  matyns  goo. 

'Hit  is  a  fourtnet  and  more,'  seid  hee, 

'Syn  I  my  Sauyour  see; 
Today  wil  I  to  Notyngham,'  seid  Robyn, 

'With  the  myght  of  mylde  Mary.' 

Then  spake  Moche,  the  mylner  sun, 

Euer  more  wel  hym  betyde! 
'Take  twelve  of  thi  wyght  yemen 

Well  weppynd,  be  thei  side. 
Such  on  wolde  thi  selfe  slon 

That  twelve  dar  not  abyde.' 

'Of  all  my  mery  men,'  seid  Robyn, 

'Be  my  feith  I  wil  none  haue; 
But  Litull  John  shall  beyre  my  bow 

Til  that  me  list  to  drawe.' 

'Thou  shalle  beyre  thin  own,'  seid  Litull  Jon, 

'Maister,  and  I  wil  beyre  myne, 
And  we  will  shete  a  peny,'  seid  Litull  Jon, 

'Under  the  grene-wode  lyne.' 

*I  wil  not  shete  a  peny,'  seyd  Robyn  Hode, 

'In  feith,  Litull  John,  with  the, 
But  euer  for  on  as  thou  shetis,'  seid  Robyn, 

'In  feith  I  holde  the  thre.' 

285 


IHE  BOOK  OF 

Thus  shet  thei  forth,  these  yemen  too, 

Bothe  at  buske  and  brome, 
Til  Litull  John  wan  of  his  maister 

Five  shiUings  to  hose  and  shone. 

A  ferly  strife  fel  them  betwene, 

As  they  went  bi  the  way; 
Litull  John  seid  he  had  won  five  shillings, 

And  Robyn  Hode  seid  schortly  nay. 

With  that  Robyn  Hode  lyed  LituI  Jon, 

And  smote  him  with  his  honde; 
Litul  jon  waxed  wroth  therwith, 

And  pulled  out  his  bright  bronde. 

'Were  thou  not  my  maister,'  said  Litull  John, 

'Thou  shuldis  by  hit  ful  sore; 
Get  the  a  man  where  thou  wilt, 

For  thou  getes  me  no  more.' 

Then  Robvn  goes  to  Notyngham, 

Hym  selfe  mornyng  allone, 
And  Litull  John  to  mery  Scherwode, 

The  pathes  he  knew  ilkone. 

Whan  Robyn  came  to  Notyngham, 

Sertenly  withouten  lavn, 
He  prayed  to  God  and  niyld  Mary 

To  bryng  hym  out  save  agayn. 

He  goes  into  sent  Mary  chirch. 
And  knele  down  before  the  rode; 
286 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

AUe  that  ever  were  the  church  within 
Beheld  wel  Robyn  Hode. 

Beside  hym  stod  a  gret-hedid  munke, 

I  pray  to  God  woo  he  be; 
Full  sone  he  knew  gode  Robyn 

As  sone  as  he  hym  se. 

Out  at  the  durre  he  ran 

Ful  sone  and  anon; 
AUe  the  yatis  of  Notyngham 

He  made  to  be  sparred  everychon. 

'Rise  up,'  he  seid,  'thou  prowde  scherefF, 
Buske  the  and  make  the  bowne; 

I  have  spyed  the  kynggis  felon, 
For  sothe  he  is  in  this  town. 

*I  have  spyed  the  false  felon, 

As  he  stondis  at  his  masse; 
Hit  is  longe  of  the,'  seide  the  munke, 

'And  ever  he  fro  us  passe. 

'This  traytur  name  is  Robyn  Hode; 

Under  the  grene-wode  lynde. 
He  robbyt  me  onys  of  a  hundred  pound, 

Hit  shalle  nevre  out  of  my  mynde.' 

Up  then  rose  this  proud  scherefF, 

And  rade  towarde  hym  yare; 
Many  was  the  modur  son 

To  the  kyrk  with  him  can  fare. 


287 


THE  BOOK  OE 

In  at  the  durres  thei  throly  thrast 

With  staves  fui  gode  wone, 
'Alas,  alas,'  seid  Robyn  Hode, 

'Now  mysse  I  Litull  John.' 

But  Robyn  toke  out  a  too-hond  sworde 

That  hangit  down  be  his  kne; 
Ther  as  the  scherefF  and  his  men  stode  thyckust, 

Thedurwarde  wold  he. 

Thryes  thorowout  at  them  he  ran  then, 

For  sothe  as  I  yow  say, 
And  woundyt  many  a  modur  son, 

And  twelve  he  slew  that  day. 

Hys  sworde  upon  the  schirefF  hed 

Sertanly  he  brake  in  too; 
'The  smyth  that  the  made,'  seid  Robyn, 

'I  pray  God  wyrke  him  woo. 

'  For  now  am  I  weppynlesse,'  seid  Robyn, 

'Alasse,  agayn  my  wylle; 
But  if  I  may  fle  these  tray  tors  fro, 

I  wot  thei  wil  me  kyll.' 

Robyn  to  the  churche  in  ran 
Throout  hem  everilkon; 

Sum  fel  in  swonyng  as  thei  were  dede, 

And  lay  still  as  any  stone. 
Non  of  theym  were  in  her  mynde 

But  only  Litull  Jon. 

288 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Let  be  your  rule,'  said  Litull  Jon, 

'For  his  luf  that  dyed  on  tre; 
Ye  that  shulde  be  dughty  men. 

Hit  is  gret  shame  to  se. 

'Oure  maister  has  bene  hard  bystode. 

And  yet  scapyd  away; 
Pluk  up  your  hertis,  and  leve  this  mone, 

And  harkyn  what  I  shal  say. 

'He  has  servyd  our  lady  many  a  day. 

And  yet  wil,  securly; 
Therefor  I  trust  in  hir  specialy 

No  wyckud  deth  shal  he  dye. 

'Therfor  be  glad,'  seid  Litul  John, 

And  let  this  mournyng  be. 
And  I  shal  be  the  munkis  gyde, 

With  the  myght  of  mylde  Mary. 

'We  will  go  but  we  too; 
'And  I  mete  hym,'  seid  Litul  John, 

'Loke  that  ye  kepe  wel  oure  tristil-tre 

Under  the  levys  smale. 
And  spare  non  of  this  venyson 

That  gose  in  thys  vale.' 

Forthe  then  went  these  yemen  too, 
Litul  John  and  Moche  on  fere, 

And  lokid  on  Moch  emys  hows 
The  hye  way  lay  full  nere. 


289 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Litul  John  stode  at  a  window  in  the  mornyng, 

And  lokid  forth  at  a  stage; 
He  was  war  wher  the  munke  came  ridyng, 

And  with  hym  a  htui  page. 

*Be  my  feith,'  said  Litul  John  to  Moch, 

'I  can  the  tel  tithyngus  gode; 
I  se  wher  the  munk  comys  rydyng, 

I  know  hym  be  his  wyde  hode.' 

They  went  into  the  way  these  yemen  bothe 

As  curtes  men  and  hende, 
Thei  spyrred  tithyngus  at  the  munke, 

As  thei  hade  bene  his  frende. 

*Fro  whens  come  ye/  seid  Litul  Jon, 

'Tel  us  tithyngus,  I  yow  pray. 
Off  a  false  owtlay,  callid  Robyn  Hode, 

Was  takyn  yisterday. 

*He  robbyt  me  and  my  felowes  bothe 

Of  twenti  marke  in  serten; 
If  that  false  owtlay  be  takyn. 

For  sothe  we  wolde  be  fayn.* 

*So  did  he  me,'  seid  the  munke, 

'Of  a  hundred  pound  and  more; 
I  layde  furst  hande  hym  apon, 

Ye  may  thonke  me  therfore.' 

'I  pray  God  thanke  yow,'  seid  Litull  John, 
'And  we  wil  when  we  may; 
290 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

We  wil  go  with  you,  with  your  leve, 
And  bryng  you  on  your  way. 

'For  Robyn  Hode  hase  many  a  wilde  felow 

I  tell  you  in  certen; 
If  thei  wist  ye  rode  this  way, 

In  feith  ye  shulde  be  slayn.' 

As  thei  went  talkyng  be  the  way. 

The  munke  and  LituU  John, 
John  toke  the  munkis  horse  be  the  hede 

Ful  sone  and  anon. 

Johne  toke  the  munkis  horse  be  the  hed, 

For  sothe  as  I  yow  say, 
So  did  Muche  the  litull  page. 

For  he  shulde  not  scape  away. 

Be  the  golett  of  the  hode 

John  pulled  the  munke  down; 
John  was  nothyng  of  hym  agast, 

He  lete  hym  falle  on  his  crown. 

Litull  John  was  sore  agrevyd, 
And  drew  owt  his  swerde  in  hye; 

The  munke  saw  he  shulde  be  ded, 
Lowd  mercy  can  he  crye. 

*He  was  my  maister,'  said  Litull  John, 
'That  thou  hase  browght  in  bale; 

Shalle  thou  never  cum  at  our  kyng. 
For  to  telle  hym  tale.' 


291 


THE  BOOK  OF 

John  smote  of  the  munkis  hed, 
No  longer  wolde  he  dwell; 

So  did  Moch  the  litull  page, 
For  ferd  lest  he  wold  tell. 

Ther  thei  beryd  hem  bothe 
In  nouther  mosse  nor  lyng, 

And  Litull  John  and  Much  infere 
Bare  the  letturs  to  oure  kyng. 


He  knelid  down  upon  his  kne, 

'God  yow  save,  my  lege  lorde, 
Jhesus  yow  save  and  se. 

'God  yow  save,  my  lege  kyng!' 

To  speke  John  was  full  bolde; 
He  gaf  hym  the  letturs  in  his  bond, 

The  kyng  did  hit  unfold. 

The  kyng  red  the  letturs  anon. 

And  seid,     'So  mot  I  the, 
Ther  was  never  yoman  in  mery  Inglond 

I  longut  so  sore  to  see. 

'Wher  is  the  munke  that  these  shuld  have  broght .?' 

Oure  kynge  can  say; 
'Be  my  trouth,'  seid  Litull  John, 

'He  dyed  after  the  way.' 

The  kyng  gaf  Moch  and  Litul  Jon 
Twenti  pound  in  sertan, 
292 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  made  theim  yemen  of  the  crown, 
And  bade  theim  go  agayn. 

He  gaf  John  the  seel  in  hand, 

The  scheref  for  to  here. 
To  bryng  Robyn  hym  to, 

And  no  man  do  hym  dere. 

John  toke  his  leve  at  oure  kyng 

The  sothe  as  I  yow  say; 
The  next  way  to  Notyngham 

To  take,  he  yede  the  way. 

Whan  John  came  to  Notyngham 
The  gatis  were  sparred  ychon; 

John  calhd  up  the  porter. 
He  answerid  sone  anon. 

'What  is  the  cause,'  seid  Litul  Jon,- 
'Thou  sparris  the  gates  so  fast  ?' 

'Because  of  Robyn  Hode,'  seid  the  porter, 
'In  depe  prison  is  cast. 

'John,  and  Moch,  and  Wyll  Scathlok, 

For  sothe  as  I  yow  say, 
Thei  slew  oure  men  upon  our  wallis. 

And  sawten  us  every  day.' 

Litull  John  spyrred  after  the  schereff. 

And  sone  he  hym  fonde; 
He  oppyned  the  kyngus  prive  seell, 

And  gaf  hym  in  his  honde. 

293 


THE  BOOK  OF 

When  the  scherefF  saw  the  kyngus  seell, 

He  did  of  his  hode  anon; 
'Wher  is  the  munke  that  bare  the  letturs  ?' 

He  seid  to  LituU  John. 

'He  is  so  fayn  of  hyni,'  seid  Litull  John, 

'For  sothe  as  I  yow  say, 
He  has  made  hym  abot  of  Westmynster, 

A  lorde  of  that  abbay.' 

The  scheref  made  John  gode  chere, 
And  gaf  hym  wyne  of  the  best; 

At  nyght  thei  went  to  her  bedde, 
And  every  man  to  his  rest. 

When  the  scheref  was  on  slepe 

Dronken  of  wyne  and  ale, 
Litul  John  and  Moch  for  sothe 

Toke  the  way  unto  the  jale. 

Litul  John  callid  up  the  jayler, 

And  bade  him  rise  anon; 
He  seid  Robyn  Hode  had  brokyn  prison, 

And  out  of  hit  was  gon. 

The  porter  rose  anon  sertan, 
As  sone  as  he  herd  John  calle; 

Litul  John  was  redy  with  a  swerd, 
And  bare  hym  to  the  walle. 

'Now  will  I  be  porter,'  seid  Litul  John, 

'And  take  the  keyes  in  honde;' 
294 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

He  toke  the  way  to  Robyn  Hode, 
And  sone  he  hym  unbonde. 

He  gaf  hym  a  gode  swerd  in  his  hond, 
His  hed  therwith  for  to  kepe, 

And  ther  as  the  walle  was  lowyst 
Anon  down  can  thei  lepe. 

Be  that  the  cok  began  to  crow, 

The  day  began  to  spryng, 
The  scheref  fond  the  jayher  ded, 

The  comyn  bell  made  he  rynge. 

He  made  a.  crye  thoroout  al  the  town, 
Wheder  he  be  yoman  or  knave, 

That  cowthe  bryng  hym  Robyn  Hode, 
His  warison  he  shuld  have. 

'For  I  dar  never,'  said  the  scheref, 

*Cum  before  oure  kyng; 
For  if  I  do,  I  wot  serten, 

For  sothe  he  wil  me  heng.' 

The  scheref  made  to  seke  Notyngham, 

Bothe  be  strete  and  stye, 
And  Robyn  was  in  mery  Scherwode 

As  light  as  lef  on  lynde. 

Then  bespake  gode  Litull  John, 

To  Robyn  Hode  can  he  say, 
'I  have  done  the  a  gode  turn  for  an  evyll, 

Quyte  the  whan  thou  may. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'I  have  done  the  a  gode  turn,'  said  Litull  John, 

'For  sothe  as  I  yow  say; 
I  have  brought  the  under  the  grene-wode  lyne; 

Fare  wel,  and  have  gode  day.' 

'Nay,  be  my  trouth,'  seid  Robyn  Hode, 

'So  shall  hit  never  be; 
I  make  the  maister,'  seid  Robyn  Hode, 

Off  alle  my  men  and  me.' 

'Nay,  be  my  trouth,'  seid  Litull  John, 

'No  shalle  hit  never  be, 
'But  lat  me  be  a  felow,'  seid  Litull  John, 

'No  noder  kepe  I  be.' 

Thus  John  gate  Robyn  Hod  out  of  prison, 

Sertan  withoutyn  layn; 
Whan  his  men  saw  hym  hoi  and  sounde, 

For  sothe  they  were  ful  fayne. 

They  filled  in  wyne,  and  made  him  glad. 

Under  the  levys  smale. 
And  gete  pastes  of  venyson, 

That  gode  was  with  ale. 

Than  worde  came  to  oure  kyng, 

How  Robyn  Hode  was  gon. 
And  how  the  scheref  of  Notyngham 

Durst  never  loke  hym  upon. 

Then  bespake  oure  cumly  kyng. 

In  an  angur  hye, 
296 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Litul  John  hase  begyled  the  scherefF, 
In  faith  so  hase  he  me. 

'LituU  John  has  begyled  us  bothe, 

And  that  full  wel  I  se, 
Or  ellis  the  scherefF  of  Notyngham 

Hye  hongut  shuide  he  be. 

'  I  made  hem  yemen  of  the  crowne, 

And  gaf  hem  fee  with  my  bond, 
I  gaf  hem  grith,'  seid  oure  kyng, 

'Thorowout  all  mery  Inglond. 

'I  gaf  theym  grith,'  then  seid  oure  kyng, 

'I  say,  so  mot  I  the, 
For  sothe  soch  a  yeman  as  he  is  on 

In  all  Ingland  ar  not  thre. 

'He  is  trew  to  his  maister,'  seid  oure  kyng, 

'I  say,  be  swete  seynt  John; 
He  lovys  better  Robyn  Hode, 

Then  he  dose  us  ychon. 

'Robyn  Hode  is  ever  bond  to  hym, 

Bothe  in  strete  and  stalle; 
Speke  no  more  of  this  matter,'  seid  oure  kyng, 

'  But  John  has  begyled  us  alle.' 

Thus  endys  the  talkyng  of  the  munke 

And  Robyn  Hode  i-wysse; 
God,  that  is  ever  a  crowned  kyng, 
Bryng  us  all  to  his  blisse! 

Anon. 
297 


THE  BOOK  OF 

/(5j.       Robin  Hood  and  the  Butcher 

/'~^OME,  all  you  brave  gallants,  and  listen  awhile, 
^-^     With  hey  down,  down,  an  a  down. 

That  are  in  the  bowers  within; 
For  of  Robin  Hood,  that  archer  good, 

A  song  I  intend  for  to  sing. 

Upon  a  time  it  chanced  so. 

Bold  Robin  in  forrest  did  'spy 
A  jolly  butcher,  with  a  bonny  fine  maTe, 

With  his  flesh  to  the  market  did  hye. 

'Good  morrow,  good  fellow,'  said  jolly  Robin, 

'What  food  hast  ?  tell  unto  me; 
Thy  trade  to  me  tell,  and  where  thou  dost  dwell, 

For  I  like  well  thy  company.' 

The  butcher  he  answer'd  jolly  Robin, 

*No  matter  where  I  dwell; 
For  a  butcher  I  am,  and  to  Notingham 

I  am  going,  my  flesh  to  sell.' 

'What's  the  price  of  thy  flesh  ?'  said  jolly  Robin, 

'Come,  tell  it  soon  unto  me; 
And  the  price  of  thy  mare,  be  she  never  so  dear, 

For  a  butcher  fain  would  I  be.' 

'The  price  of  my  flesh,'  the  butcher  repli'd, 

'I  soon  will  tell  unto  thee; 
With  my  bonny  mare,  and  they  are  not  dear, 

Four  mark  thou  must  give  unto  me.' 
298 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Four  mark  I  will  give  thee,'  saith  jolly  Robin, 

'Four  mark  it  shall  be  thy  fee; 
The  money  come  count,  and  let  me  mount, 

For  a  butcher  I  fain  would  be.' 

Now  Robin  he  is  to  Notingham  gone, 

His  butchers  trade  for  to  begin; 
With  good  intent  to  the  sheriff  he  went. 

And  there  he  took  up  his  inn. 

When  other  butchers  they  open  their  meat, 

Bold  Robin  he  then  begun; 
But  how  for  to  sell  he  knew  not  well, 

For  a  butcher  he  was  but  young. 

When  other  butchers  no  meat  could  sell, 

Robin  got  both  gold  and  fee; 
For  he  sold  more  meat  for  one  peny 

Than  others  could  do  for  three. 

But  when  he  sold  his  meat  so  fast. 

No  butcher  by  him  could  thrive; 
For  he  sold  more  meat  for  one  peny 

Than  others  could  do  for  five. 

Which  made  the  butchers  of  Notingham 

To  study  as  they  did  stand, 
Saying,  'Surely  he  was  some  prodigal. 

That  hath  sold  his  fathers  land.' 

The  butchers  they  stepped  to  jolly  Robin, 
Acquainted  with  him  for  to  be; 

299 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Come,  brother,'  one  said,  'we  be  all  of  one  trade, 
'Come,  will  you  go  dine  with  me  r' 

'Accurst  of  his  heart,'  said  jolly  Robin, 

'That  a  butcher  doth  deny; 
I  will  go  with  you,  my  brethren  true. 

As  fast  as  I  can  hie.' 

But  when  to  the  sheriffs  house  they  came, 

To  dinner  they  hied  apace, 
And  Robin  he  the  man  must  be 

Before  them  all  to  say  grace. 

'Pray  God  bless  us  all,'  said  jolly  Robin, 

'And  our  meat  within  this  place; 
A  c^p  of  sack  so  good  will  nourish  our  blood. 

And  so  do  I  end  my  grace.' 

'Come  fill  us  more  wine,'  said  jolly  Robin, 

'Let  us  be  merry  while  we  do  stay; 
For  wine  and  good  cheer,  be  it  never  so  dear, 

I  vow  I  the  reckning  will  pay. 

'Come,  brothers,  be  merry,'  said  jolly  Robin, 

'Let  us  drink,  and  never  give  ore; 
For  the  shot  I  will  pay,  ere  I  go  my  way, 

If  it  cost  me  five  pounds  and  more.' 

'This  is  a  mad  blade,'  the  butchers  then  said; 

Saies  the  sheriff,  'He  is  some  prodigal. 
That  some  land  has  sold,  for  silver  and  gold, 

And  now  he  doth  mean  to  spend  all. 
300 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Hast  thou  any  horn  beasts,'  the  sheriff  repH'd, 

'Good  fellow,  to  sell  unto  me?' 
'Yes,  that  I  have,  good  master  sheriff, 

I  have  hundreds  two  or  three; 

'And  a  hundred  aker  of  good  free  land, 

If  you  please  it  to  see: 
And  rie  make  you  as  good  assurance  of  it, 

As  ever  my  father  made  me.' 

The  sheriff  he  saddled  his  good  palfrey 

With  three  hundred  pound  in  gold. 
Away  he  went  with  bold  Robin  Hood, 

His  horned  beasts  to  behold. 

Away  then  the  sheriff  and  Robin  did  ride, 

To  the  forrest  of  merry  Sherwood; 
Then  the  sheriff  did  say,  'God  bless  us  this  day 

From  a  man  they  call  Robin  Hood!' 

But  when  that  a  little  farther  they  came. 

Bold  Robin  he  chanced  to  spy 
A  hundred  head  of  good  red  deer, 

Come  tripping  the  sheriff  full  nigh. 

'How  like  you  my  horn'd  beasts,  good  master  sheriff] 

They  be  fat  and  fair  for  to  see;' 
'I  tell  thee,  good  fellow,  I  would  I  were  gone, 

For  I  like  not  thy  company.' 

Then  Robin  set  his  horn  to  his  mouth. 
And  blew  but  blasts  three; 

301 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Then  quickly  anon  there  came  Little  John, 
And  all  his  company. 

'What  is  your  will,'  then  said  Little  John, 

'Good  master,  come  tell  it  to  me;' 
'I  have  brought  hither  the  sheriff  of  Notingham 

This  day  to  dine  with  thee.' 

'He  is  welcome  to  me,'  then  said  Little  John, 

'I  hope  he  will  honestly  pay; 
I  know  he  has  gold,  if  it  be  but  well  told, 

Will  serve  us  to  drink  a  whole  day.' 

Then  Robin  took  his  mantle  from  his  back, 

And  laid  it  upon  the  ground: 
And  out  of  the  sheriffs  portmantle 

He  told  three  hundred  pound. 

Then  Robin  he  brought  him  thorow  the  wood, 

And  set  him  on  his  dapple  gray; 
'O  have  me  commended  to  your  wife  at  home;' 

So  Robin  went  laughing  away. 

Jnon. 


i6^.  Robin  Hood  and  Guy   of  Gishorne 


W 


HEN  shawes  beene  sheene,  and  shradds  full  fayre 
And  leeves  both  large  and  longe, 
Itt  is  merry,  walking  in  the  fayre  forrest, 
To  heare  the  small  birds  songe. 
302 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  woodweele  sang,  and  wold  not  cease, 

Amongst  the  leaves  a  lyne: 
And  it  is  by  two  wight  yeomen, 

By  deare  God,  that  I  meane. 

'Me  thought  they  did  mee  beate  and  binde, 

And  tooke  my  bow  mee  froe; 
If  I  bee  Robin  a-live  in  this  lande, 

I'le  be  wrocken  on  both  them  towe.' 

'Sweavens  are  swift,  master,'  quoth  John, 
'As  the  wind  that  blowes  ore  a  hill; 

For  if  itt  be  never  soe  lowde  this  night, 
To-morrow  it  may  be  still.' 

'  Buske  yee,  bowne  yee,  my  merry  men  all. 

For  John  shall  goe  with  mee; 
For  I'le  goe  seeke  yond  wight  yeomen 

In  greenwood  where  the  bee.' 

The  cast  on  their  gowne  of  greene, 

A  shooting  gone  are  they, 
Untill  they  came  to  the  merry  greenwood. 

Where  they  had  gladdest  bee; 
There  were  the  ware  of  a  wight  yeoman, 

His  body  leaned  to  a  tree. 

A  sword  and  a  dagger  he  wore  by  his  side. 

Had  beene  many  a  mans  bane, 
And  he  was  cladd  in  his  capull-hyde, 

Topp,  and  tayle,  and  mayne. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Stand  you  still,  master,'  quoth  Litle  John, 

'Under  this  trusty  tree. 
And  I  will  goe  to  yond  wight  yeoman, 

To  know  his  meaning  trulye.' 

'A,  John,  by  me  thou  setts  noe  store. 

And  that's  a  farley  thinge; 
How  offt  send  I  my  men  before. 

And  tarry  my-selfe  behinde  ? 

'It  is  noe  cunning  a  knave  to  ken. 
And  a  man  but  heare  him  speake; 

And  itt  were  not  for  bursting  of  my  bowe, 
John,  I  wold  thy  head  breake.' 

But  often  words  they  breeden  bale, 

That  parted  Robin  and  John; 
John  is  gone  to  Barnesdale, 

The  gates  he  knowes  eche  one. 

But  when  hee  came  to  Barnesdale, 

Great  heavinesse  there  hee  hadd; 
He  found  two  of  his  fellowes 

Were  slaine  both  in  a  slade. 

And  Scarlett  a  foote  flyinge  was, 

Over  stockes  and  stone. 
For  the  sheriffe  with  seven  score  men 

Fast  after  him  is  gone. 

'Yett  one  shoote  I  'le  shoote,'  sayes  Litle  John, 
'With  Crist  his  might  and  mayne; 
304 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

I  'le  make  yond  felow  that  flyes  soe  fast 
To  be  both  glad  and  faine.' 

John  bent  up  a  good  veiwe  bow, 

And  fetteled  him  to  shoote; 
The  bow  was  made  of  a  tender  boughe, 

And  fell  downe  to  his  foote. 

'Woe  worth  thee,  wicked  wood,'     sayd  Litle  John, 

'That  ere  thoii  grew  on  a  tree! 
For  this  day  thou  art  my  bale. 

My  boote  when  thou  shold  bee!' 

This  shoote  it  was  but  looselye  shott, 

The  arrowe  flew  in  vaine. 
And  it  mett  one  of  the  sheriffes  men; 

Good  William  a  Trent  was  slaine. 

It  had  beene  better  for  William  a  Trent 

To  hange  upon  a  gallowe 
Then  for  to  lye  in  the  greenwoode. 

There  slaine  with  an  arrowe. 

'And  it  is  sayd,  when  men  be  mett. 

Six  can  do  more  then  three: 
And  they  have  tane  Litle  John, 

And  bound  him  fast  to  a  tree. 

'Thou  shalt  be  drawen  by  dale  and  downe,'  quoth  the 

sheriffe, 

'And  hanged  hye  on  a  hill:' 
'But  thou  may  fayle,'  quoth  Litle  John, 

'If  itt  be  Christ's  ownc  will.' 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Let  us  leave  talking  of  Litle  John, 

For  hee  is  bound  fast  to  a  tree, 
And  talke  of  Guy  and  Robin  Hoode, 

In  the  green  woode  where  they  bee. 

How  these  two  yeomen  together  they  mett. 

Under  the  leaves  of  lyne, 
To  see  what  marchandise  they  made 

Even  at  that  same  time. 

'Good  morrow,  good  fellow,'  quoth  Sir  Guy; 

'Good  morrow,  good  fellow,'  quoth  hee; 
'Methinks  by  this  bow  thou  beares  in  thy  hand, 

A  good  archer  thou  seems  to  bee.' 

'I  am  wilfuU  of  my  way,'  quoth  Sir  Guye, 

'And  ot  my  morning  tyde:' 
'I  'le  lead  thee  through  the  wood,'  quoth  Robin, 

'Good  fellow,  I  'le  be  thy  guide.' 

'I  seeke  an  outlaw,'  quoth  Sir  Guye, 

'Men  call  him  Robin  Hood; 
I  had  rather  meet  with  him  upon  a  day 

Then  forty  pound  of  golde.' 

'  If  you  tow  mett,  itt  wold  be  scene  whether  were  better 

Atore  yee  did  part  awaye; 
Let  us  some  other  pastime  find. 

Good  fellow,  I  thee  pray. 

'Let  us  some  other  masteryes  make. 
And  wee  will  walke  in  the  woods  even; 
306 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Wee  may  chance  meet  with  Robin  Hoode 
Att  some  unsett  Steven.' 

They  cutt  them  downe  the  summer  shroggs 
Which  grew  both  under  a  bryar, 

And  sett  them  three  score  rood  in  twinn, 
To  shoote  the  prickes  full  neare. 

'Leade  on,  good  fellow,'  sayd  Sir  Guye, 

'Lead  on,  I  doe  bidd  thee:' 
'Nay,  by  my  faith,'  quoth  Robin  Hood, 

'The  leader  thou  shah  bee.' 

The  first  good  shoot  that  Robin  ledd 
Did  not  shoote  an  inch  the  pricke  froe; 

Guy  was  an  archer  good  enoughe. 
But  he  cold  neere  shoote  soe. 

The  second  shoote  Sir  Guy  shott. 

He  shott  within  the  garlande; 
But  Robin  Hoode  shott  it  better  then  hee, 

For  he  clove  the  good  pricke-wande. 

'Gods  blessing  on  thy  heart!'  sayes  Guye, 
'Goode  fellow,  thy  shooting  is  goode; 

For  an  thy  hart  be  as  good  as  thy  hands, 
Thou  were  better  then  Robin  Hood. 

'Tell  me  thy  name,  good  fellow,'  quoth  Guy, 

'Under  the  leaves  of  lyne:' 
'Nay,  by  my  faith,'  quoth  good  Robin, 

'Till  thou  have  told  me  thine.' 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'I  dwell  by  dale  and  downe,'  quoth  Guye, 
'And  I  have  done  many  a  curst  turne; 

And  he  that  calles  me  by  my  right  name 
Calies  me  Guye  of  good  Gysborne.' 

'My  dwelling  is  in  the  wood,'  sayes  Robin; 

'  By  thee  I  set  right  nought; 
My  name  is  Robin  Hood  of  Barnesdale, 

A  fellow  thou  has  long  sought.' 

He  that  had  neither  beene  a  kithe  nor  kin 
Might  have  scene  a  full  fayre  sight, 

To  see  how  together  these  yeomen  went. 
With  blades  both  browne  and  bright. 

To  have  scene  how  these  yeomen  together  fought, 

Two  howers  of  a  summers  day; 
Itt  was  neither  Guy  nor  Robin  Hood 

That  fettled  them  to  flye  away. 

Robin  was  rcacheles  on  a  roote, 

And  stumbled  at  that  tyde. 
And  Guy  was  quicke  and  nimble  withall. 

And  hitt  him  ore  the  left  side. 

'Ah,  deere  Lady!'  sayd  Robin  Hoode, 

'Thou  art  both  mother  and  may! 
I  thinke  it  was  never  mans  destinye 

To  dye  before  his  day.' 

Robin  thought  on  Our  Lady  deere, 
And  soone  leapt  up  againe, 
30S 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  thus  he  came  with  an  awkwarde  stroke; 
Good  Sir  Guy  hee  has  slayne. 

He  tooke  Sir  Guys  head  by  the  hayre, 

And  sticked  itt  on  his  bowes  end: 
'Thou  hast  beene  traytor  all  thy  hfFe, 

Which  thing  must  have  an  ende.' 

Robin  pulled  forth  an  Irish  knifFe, 

And  nicked  Sir  Guy  in  the  face, 
That  hee  was  never  on  a  woman  borne 

Cold  tell  who  Sir  Guye  was. 

Saies,  'Lye  there,  lye  there,  good  Sir  Guye, 

And  with  me  be  not  wrothe; 
If  thou  have  had  the  worse  stroakes  at  my  hand. 

Thou  shalt  have  the  better  cloathe. 

Robin  did  off  his  gowne  of  greene, 

Sir  Guye  hee  did  it  throwe; 
And  hee  put  on  that  capull-hyde, 

That  cladd  him  topp  to  toe. 

'The  bowe,  the  arrowes,  and  litle  home, 

And  with  me  now  I  'le  beare; 
For  now  I  will  goe  to  Barnesdale, 

To  see  how  my  men  doe  fare.' 

Robin  sett  Guyes  home  to  his  mouth, 

A  lowd  blast  in  it  he  did  blow; 
That  beheard  the  sheriffe  of  Nottingham, 

As  he  leaned  under  a  lowe. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Hearken!  hearken!'  sayd  the  sherifFe, 

'I  heard  noe  tydings  but  good; 
For  yonder  I  heare  Sir  Guyes  home  blowe, 

For  he  hath  slaine  Robin  Hoode. 

'  For  yonder  I  heare  Sir  Guyes  home  blow, 

Itt  blowes  soe  well  in  tyde, 
For  yonder  comes  that  wighty  yeoman, 

Cladd  in  his  capull-hyde. 

'Come  hither,  thou  good  Sir  Guy, 
Aske  of  mee  what  thou  wilt  have;' 

'I  'le  none  of  thy  gold,'  sayes  Robin  Hood, 
'Nor  I  'le  none  of  itt  have. 

'  But  now  I  have  slaine  the  master,'  he  sayd, 

'Let  me  goe  strike  the  knave; 
This  is  all  the  reward  I  aske, 

Nor  noe  other  will  I  have.' 

'Thou  art  a  madman,'  said  the  shiriffe, 
'Thou  sholdest  have  had  a  knights  fee; 

Seeing  thy  asking  hath  beene  soe  badd, 
Well  granted  it  shall  be.' 

But  Litle  John  heard  his  master  speake, 
Well  he  knew  that  was  his  Steven; 

'Now  shall  I  be  loset,'  quoth  Litle  John, 
With  Christs  might  in  heavens.' 

But  Robin  hee  hyed  him  towards  Litle  John, 
Hee  thought  hee  wold  loose  him  belive; 
310 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  sheriffe  and  all  his  companye 
Fast  after  him  did  drive. 

'Stand  abacke!  stand  abacke!'  sayd  Robin; 

'Why  draw  you  mee  soe  neere  ? 
Itt  was  never  the  use  in  our  countrye 

One's  shrift  another  shold  heere.' 

But  Robin  pulled  forth  an  Irysh  kniffe, 
And  losed  John  hand  and  foote, 

And  gave  him  Sir  Guyes  bow  in  his  hand, 
And  bade  it  be  his  boote. 

But  John  tooke  Guyes  bow.  in  his  hand — 
His  arrowes  were  rawstye  by  the  roote — ; 

The  sherriflFe  saw  Little  John  draw  a  bow 
And  fettle  him  to  shoote. 

Towards  his  house  in  Nottingham 

He  fled  full  fast  away, 
And  soe  did  all  his  companye, 

Not  one  behind  did  stay. 

But  he  cold  neither  soe  fast  goe, 

Nor  away  soe  fast  runn, 
But  Litle  John,  with  an  arrow  broade, 

Did  cleave  his  heart  in  twinn. 


Anc 


3" 


THE  BOOK  OF 

i6^.    Robin  Hood's  Death  and  Burial 

\  1  yHEN  Robin  Hood  and  Little  John, 
*  *        Down  a  down,  a  down,  a  down, 

Went  o'er  yon  bank  of  broom, 
Said  Robin  Hood  bold  to  Little  John, 
'We  have  shot  for  many  a  pound:' 
Hey  down,  a  down,  a  down. 

'But  I  am  not  able  to  shoot  one  shot  more, 

My  broad  arrows  will  not  flee; 
But  I  have  a  cousin  lives  down  below, 

Please  God,  she  will  bleed  me.' 

Now  Robin  is  to  fair  Kirkly  gone. 

As  fast  as  he  can  win; 
But  before  he  came  there,  as  we  do  hear, 

He  was  taken  very  ill. 

And  when  he  came  to  fair  Kirkly-hall, 

He  knocked  all  at  the  ring. 
But  none  was  so  ready  as  his  cousin  herself 

For  to  let  bold  Robin  in. 

'Will  you  please  to  sit  down,  cousin  Robin,'  she  said, 

'And  drink  some  beer  with  me.V 
'No,  I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink. 

Till  I  am  blooded  by  thee.' 

'Well,  I  have  a  room,  cousin  Robin,'  she  said, 
'Which  you  did  never  see, 
312 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  if  you  please  to  walk,  therein, 
You  blooded  by  me  shall  be.' 

She  took  him  by  the  lily-white  hand, 
And  led  him  to  a  private  room, 

And  there  she  blooded  bold  Robin  Hood, 
While  one  drop  of  blood  would  run  down. 

She  blooded  him  in  a  vein  of  the  arm, 
And  locked  him  up  in  the  room; 

Then  did  he  bleed  all  the  live-long  day. 
Until  the  next  day  at  noon. 

He  then  bethought  him  of  a  casement  there, 

Thinking  for  to  get  down; 
But  he  was  so  weak  he  could  not  leap. 

He  could  not  get  him  down. 

He  then  bethought  him  of  his  bugle-horn, 
Which  hung  low  down  to  his  knee; 

He  set  his  horn  unto  his  mouth, 
And  blew  out  weak  blasts  three. 

Then  Little  John,  when  hearing  him, 

As  he  sat  under  a  tree, 
*I  fear  my  master  is  now  near  dead. 

He  blows  so  wearily.' 

Then  Little  John  to  fair  Kirkly  is  gone. 

As  fast  as  he  can  dree; 
But  when  he  came  to  Kirkly-hall, 

He  broke  locks  two  or  three: 


313 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Until  he  came  bold  Robin  to  see, 

Then  he  fell  on  his  knee: 
'A  boon,  a  boon,'  cries  Little  John, 

'Master,  I  beg  of  thee.' 

'What  is  that  boon,'  said  Robin  Hood, 
'Little  John,  thou  begs  of  me  ?' 

'It  is  to  burn  fair  Kirkly-hall, 
And  all  their  nunnery.' 

'Now  nay,  now  nay,'  quoth  Robin  Hood, 
'That  boon  I'll  not  grant  thee; 

I  never  hurt  woman  in  all  my  life. 
Nor  men  in  woman's  company. 

'I  never  hurt  fair  maid  in  all  my  time. 

Nor  at  mine  end  shall  it  be; 
But  give  me  my  bent  bow  in  my  hand, 

And  a  broad  arrow  I'll  let  flee; 
And  where  this  arrow  is  taken  up. 

There  shall  my  grave  digg'd  be. 

'Lay  me  a  green  sod  under  my  head, 

And  another  at  my  feet; 
And  lay  my  bent  bow  by  my  side, 

Which  was  my  music  sweet; 
And  make  my  grave  of  gravel  and  green, 

Which  is  most  right  and  meet. 

'Let  me  have  length  and  breadth  enough, 
With  under  my  head  a  green  sod; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

That  they  may  say,  when  I  am  dead, 
Here  Hes  bold  Robin  Hood.' 

These  words  they  readily  promised  him. 

Which  did  bold  Robin  please; 
And  there  they  buried  bold  Robin  Hood, 

Within  the  fair  Kirkleys. 


l66.  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

'  I  ^HE  king  sits  in  Dunfermline  town, 

-*■       Drinking  the  blude-red  wine, 

O  whare  will  I  get  a  skeely  skipper 

To  sail  this  new  ship  o'  mine  ?' 

O  up  and  spak  an  eldern  knight. 
Sat  at  the  king's  right  knee: 

'Sir  Patrick  Spens  is  the  best  sailor 
That  ever  sail'd  the  sea.' 

Our  king  has  written  a  braid  letter. 
And  seal'd  it  with  his  hand, 

And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 
Was  walking  on  the  strand. 

*To  Noroway,  to  Noroway, 
To  Noroway  o'er  the  faem: 

The  king's  daughter  o'  Noroway, 
'Tis  thou  maun  bring  her  hame.' 


An(. 


315 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  first  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

Sac  loud,  loud  laughed  he; 
The  neist  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

The  tear  blinded  his  e'e. 

'O  wha  is  this  has  done  this  deed, 

And  tauld  the  king  o'  me, 
To  send  us  out,  at  this  time  o'  the  year. 

To  sail  upon  the  sea  ?' 

'Be  it  wind,  be  it  weet,  be  it  hail,  be  it  sleet, 

Our  ship  must  sail  the  faem; 
The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 

'Tis  we  must  fetch  her  hame.' 

They  hoysed  their  sails  on  Monenday  morn, 

Wi'  a'  the  speed  they  may; 
And  they  hae  landed  in  Noroway, 

Upon  a  Wodensday. 

They  hadna  been  a  week,  a  week 

In  Noroway  but  twae, 
When  that  the  lords  o'  Noroway 

Began  aloud  to  say: 

*Ye  Scottishmen  spend  a'  our  king's  goud. 

And  a'  our  queenis  fee.' 
'Ye  lie,  ye  lie,  ye  liars  loud! 

Fu'  loud  I  hear  ye  lie! 

'For  I  hae  brought -qs  much  white  monie 
As  gane  my  men  and  me, 
316 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  I  hae  brought  a  half-fou'  o'  gude  red  goud, 
Out  o'er  the  sea  wi'  me. 

'Make  ready,  make  ready,  my  merry-men  a'! 

Our  gude  ship  sails  the  morn.' 
'Now  ever  alake,  my  master  dear, 

I  fear  a  deadly  storm! 

'I  saw  the  new  moon,  late  yestreen, 

Wi'  the  auld  moon  in  her  arm; 
And  if  we  gang  to  sea,  master, 

I  fear  we'll  come  to  harm.' 

They  hadna  sail'd  a  league,  a  league, 

A  league  but  barely  three. 
When  the  lift  grew  dark,  and  the  wind  blew  loud, 

And  gurly  grew  the  sea. 

The  ankers  brak,  and  the  top-masts  lap, 

It  was  sic  a  deadly  storm; 
And  the  waves  cam  o'er  the  broken  ship, 

Till  a'  her  sides  were  torn. 

'O  where  will  I  get  a  gude  sailor. 

To  take  my  helm  in  hand. 
Till  I  get  up  to  the  tall  top-mast, 

To  see  if  I  can  spy  land  .?' 

'O  here  am  I,  a  sailor  gude, 

To  take  the  helm  in  hand. 
Till  you  get  up  to  the  tall  top-mast; 

But  I  fear  you'll  ne'er  spy  land.' 

?>^7 


THE  BOOK  OF 

He  hadna  gane  a  step,  a  step, 

A  step  but  barely  ane. 
When  a  bout  flew  out  of  our  goodly  ship, 

And  the  salt  sea  it  came  in. 

'Gae,  fetch  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith. 

Another  o'  the  twine, 
And  they  wapped  them  roun  that  gude  ship's  side 

But  still  the  sea  came  in. 

O  laith,  laith,  were  our  gude  Scots  lords 

To  weet  their  cock-heel'd  shoon! 
But  lang  or  a'  the  play  was  play'd 

Their  wat  their  hats  aboon. 

And  mony  was  the  feather-bed 

That  floated  on  the  faem. 
And  mony  was  the  gude  lord's  son 

That  never  mair  cam  hame. 

The  ladyes  wrang  their  fingers  white, 

The  maidens  tore  their  hair, 
A'  for  the  sake  of  their  true  loves. 

For  them  they'll  see  na  mair. 

O  lang,  lang  may  the  ladyes  sit, 

Wi'  their  fans  into  their  hand, 
Before  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

Come  sailing  to  the  strand! 

And  lang,  lang  may  the  maidens  sit, 
Wi'  their  goud  kaims  in  their  hair, 
318 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

A'  waiting  for  their  ain  dear  loves! 
For  them  they'll  see  na  mair. 

O  forty  miles  off  Aberdourj 

'Tis  fifty  fathoms  deep, 
And  there  lies  gude  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 

Wi'  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet. 


16^.  The  Battle  of  Otterbourne 

IT  fell  about  the  Lammas  tide, 
When  the  muir-men  win  their  hay. 
The  doughty  Douglas  bound  him  to  ride 
Into  England,  to  drive  a  prey. 

He  chose  the  Gordons  and  the  Graemes, 
With  them  the  Lindsays,  light  and  gay; 

But  the  Jardines  wad  not  with  him  ride. 
And  they  rue  it  to  this  day. 

And  he  has  burn'd  the  dales  of  Tyne, 
And  part  of  Bambroughshire: 

And  three  good  towers  on  Reidswire  fells, 
He  left  them  all  on  fire. 

And  he  march'd  up  to  Newcastle, 

And  rode  it  round  about: 
*0  wha's  the  lord  of  this  castle? 

Or  wha's  the  lady  o't  ?' 


319 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  up  spake  proud  Lord  Percy  then, 

And  O  but  he  spake  hie! 
'I  am  the  lord  of  this  castle, 

My  wife's  the  lady  gaye.' 

'If  thou'rt  the  lord  of  this  castle, 

Sae  weel  it  pleases  me! 
For,  ere  I  cross  the  Border  fells. 

The  tane  of  us  sail  die.' 

He  took  a  lang  spear  in  his  hand, 

Shod  with  the  metal  free, 
And  for  to  meet  the  Douglas  there. 

He  rode  right  furiouslie. 

But  O  how  pale  his  lady  look'd, 

Frae  afF  the  castle  wa'. 
When  down,  before  the  Scottish  spear, 

She  saw  proud  Percy  fa'. 

'Had  we  twa  been  upon  the  green, 

And  never  an  eye  to  see, 
I  wad  hae  had  you,  flesh  and  fell; 

But  your  sword  sail  gae  wi'  mee.' 

'But  gae  ye  up  to  Otterbourne, 
And  wait  there  dayis  three; 

And,  if  I  come  not  ere  three  dayis  end, 
A  fause  knight  ca'  ye  me.' 

'The  Otterbourne's  a  bonnie  burn; 
'Tis  pleasant  there  to  be; 
320 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  there  is  nought  at  Otterbourne, 
To  feed  my  men  and  me. 

'The  deer  rins  wild  on  hill  and  dale, 
The  birds  fly  wild  from  tree  to  tree; 

But  there  is  neither  bread  nor  kale, 
To  fend  my  men  and  me. 

'Yet  I  will  stay  at  Otterbourne, 

Where  you  shall  welcome  be; 
And,  if  ye  come  not  at  three  dayis  end, 

A  fause  lord  I'll  ca'  thee.' 

'Thither  will  I  come,'  proud  Percy  said, 

'By  the  might  of  Our  Ladye!' 
'There  will  I  bide  thee,'  said  the  Douglas, 

'My  troth  I  plight  to  thee.' 

They  lighted  high  on  Otterbourne, 

Upon  the  bent  sae  brown; 
They  lighted  high  on  Otterbourne, 

And  threw  their  pallions  down. 

And  he  that  had  a  bonnie  boy. 

Sent  out  his  horse  to  grass. 
And  he  that  had  not  a  bonnie  boy. 

His  ain  servant  he  was. 

But  up  then  spake  a  little  page. 

Before  the  peep  of  dawn: 
'O  waken  ye,  waken  ye,  my  good  lord, 

For  Percy's  hard  at  hand.' 

321 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Ye  lie,  ye  lie,  ye  liar  loud! 

Sae  loud  I  hear  ye  lie; 
For  Percy  had  not  men  yestreen, 

To  dight  my  men  and  me. 

'But  I  have  dream'd  a  dreary  dream, 

Beyond  the  Isle  of  Sky; 
I  saw  a  dead  man  win  a  fight, 

And  I  think  that  man  was  I.' 

He  belted  on  his  guid  braid  sword, 

And  to  the  field  he  ran; 
But  he  forgot  the  helmet  good, 

That  should  have  kept  his  brain. 

When  Percy  wi'  the  Douglas  met, 

I  wat  he  was  fu'  fain! 
They  swakked  their  swords,  till  sair  they  swat, 

And  the  blood  ran  down  like  rain. 

But  Percy  with  his  good  broad  sword, 

That  could  so  sharply  wound, 
Has  wounded  Douglas  on  the  brow. 

Till  he  fell  to  the  ground. 

Then  he  call'd  on  his  little  foot-page. 

And  said — 'Run  speedilie. 
And  fetch  my  ain  dear  sister's  son, 

Sir  Hugh  Montgomery. 

'My  nephew  good,'  the  Douglas  said, 
'What  recks  the  death  of  ane! 
322 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Last  night  I  dream'd  a  dreary  dream, 
And  I  ken  the  day's  thy  ain. 

'My  wound  is  deep;  I  fain  would  sleep; 

Take  thou  the  vanguard  of  the  three, 
And  hide  me  by  the  braken  bush, 

That  grows  on  yonder  lilye  lee. 

'O  bury  me  by  the  braken-bush. 

Beneath  the  blooming  brier; 
Let  never  living  mortal  ken 

That  ere  a  kindly  Scot  lies  here.' 

He  lifted  up  that  noble  lord, 

Wi'  the  saut  tear  in  his  e'e; 
He  hid  him  in  the  braken  bush, 

That  his  merry  men  might  not  see. 

The  moon  was  clear,  the  day  drew  near, 

The  spears  in  flinders  flew, 
But  mony  a  gallant  Englishman 

Ere  day  the  Scotsmen  slew. 

The  Gordons  good,  in  English  blood. 
They  steep'd  their  hose  and  shoon; 

The  Lindsays  flew  like  fire  about, 
Till  all  the  fray  was  done. 

The  Percy  and  Montgomery  met. 

That  either  of  other  weve  fain; 
They  swapped  swords,  and  they  twa  swat. 

And  aye  the  blood  ran  down  between. 

323 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Now  yield  thee,  yield  thee,  Percy,'  he  said, 

'Or  else  I  vow  I'll  lay  thee  low!' 
'To  whom  must  I  yield,'  quoth  Earl  Percy, 

'Now  that  I  see  it  must  be  so  ?' 

'Thou  shalt  not  yield  to  lord  nor  loun, 

Nor  yet  shalt  thou  yield  to  me; 
But  yield  thee  to  the  braken-bush, 

That  grows  upon  yon  lilye  lee!' 

'I  will  not  yield  to  a  braken-bush, 

Nor  yet  will  I  yield  to  a  brier; 
But  I  would  yield  to  Earl  Douglas, 

Or  Sir  Hugh  the  Montgomery,  if  he  were  here.' 

As  soon  as  he  knew  it  was  Montgomery, 
He  struck  his  sword's  point  in  the  gronde; 

The  Montgomery  was  a  courteous  knight, 
And  quickly  took  him  by  the  honde. 

This  deed  was  done  at  Otterburne, 

About  the  breaking  of  the  day; 
Earl  Douglas  was  buried  at  the  braken  bush. 

And  the  Percy  led  captive  away. 

Anon. 

1 68.        The  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot 

'T^HE  Perse  out  of  Northumberland, 

*-       And  a  vow  to  God  made  he. 
That  he  would  hunt  in  the  mountains 
Of  Cheviot  within  days  three, 
324 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

In  the  magger  of  doughte  Douglas, 
And  all  that  ever  with  him  be. 

The  fattest  harts  in  all  Cheviot 

He  said  he  would  kill,  and  carry  them  away: 
'By  my  faith,'  said  the  doughty  Douglas  again, 

'I  will  let  that  hunting  if  that  I  may.' 

Then  the  Perse  out  of  Banborowe  came, 
With  him  a  mighty  meany; 

With  fifteen  hundrith  archers  bold  of  blood  and  bone, 
They  were  chosen  out  of  shires  three. 

This  began  on  a  Monday  at  morn. 

In  Cheviot  the  hillys  so  he; 
The  child  may  rue  that  is  un-born, 

It  was  the  more  pity. 

The  drivers  thorow  the  woodes  went. 

For  to  raise  the  deer; 
Bowmen  byckarte  upon  the  bent 

With  their  broad  arrows  clear. 

Then  the  wyld  thorow  the  woodes  went, 

On  every  syde  shear; 
Greyhounds  thorow  the  grevis  glent, 

For  to  kill  their  deer. 

Thus  began  in  Cheviot  the  hills  abone, 

Early  on  a  Monnyn  day; 
By  that  it  drew  to  the  hour  of  noon, 

A  hundrith  fat  harts  dead  there  lay. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

They  blew  a  mort  upon  the  bent, 

They  sembled  on  sydes  shear; 
To  the  quarry  the  Perse  went, 

To  see  the  brittling  of  the  deer. 

He  said,  'It  was  the  Douglas  promise 

This  day  to  meet  me  here; 
But  I  wist  he  would  fail,  verament:' 

A  great  oath  the  Perse  swear. 

At  the  last  a  squire  of  Northumberland 

Looked  at  his  hand  full  nigh; 
He  was  ware  o'  the  doughty  Douglas  coming, 

With  him  a  mighty  meany; 

Both  with  spear,  bylle,  and  brand; 

It  was  a  mighty  sight  to  see; 
Hardier  men,  both  of  heart  nor  hand, 

Were  not  in  Christiante. 

There  were  twenty  hundrith  spear-men  good, 

Withowte  any  fail; 
They  were  born  along  the  water  o'  Twyde, 

Ith'  bounds  of  Tividale. 

'Leave  of  the  brittling  of  the  deer,'  he  said, 
'And  to  your  bows  look  ye  take  good  heed; 

For  never  sith  ye  were  on  your  mothers  born 
Had  ye  never  so  mickle  need.' 

326 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  doughty  Douglas  on  a  steed 

He  rode  all  his  men  beforne; 
His  armour  glittered  as  did  a  glede; 

A  bolder  bairn  was  never  born. 

'Tell  me  whose  men  ye  are,'  he  says, 

'Or  whose  men  that  ye  be: 
Who  gave  you  leave  to  hunt  in  this  Cheviot  chase, 

In  the  spite  of  mine  and  me  ?' 

The  first  man  that  ever  him  an  answer  made 

It  was  the  good  lord  Perse: 
'We  will  not  tell  thee  whose  men  we  are,'  he  says, 

'Nor  whose  men  that  we  be; 
But  we  will  hunt  here  in  this  chase. 

In  the  spite  of  thine  and  thee. 

'The  fattest  harts  in  all  Cheviot 

We  have  killed,  and  cast  to  carry  them  away:' 
'Be  my  troth,'  said  the  doughty  Douglas  again, 

'Therefore  the  one  of  us  shall  die  this  day.' 

Then  said  the  doughty  Douglas 

Unto  the  lord  Perse: 
'To  kill  all  these  guiltless  men, 

Alas,  it  were  a  great  pity! 

'But,  Perse,  thou  art  a  lord  of  land, 
I  am  an  Earl  called  within  my  contree; 

Let  all  our  men  upon  a  party  stand. 
And  do  the  battle  of  thee  and  of  me.' 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Now  Cristes  corpse  on  his  crown,'  said  the  lord  Perse, 

'Whosoever  there-to  says  nay; 
By  my  troth,  doughty  Douglas,'  he  says, 

'Thou  shalt  never  see  that  day. 

'Neither  in  England,  Scotland,  nor  France, 

Nor  for  no  man  of  a  woman  born, 
But,  and  fortune  be  my  chance, 

I  dare  meet  him,  one  man  for  one.' 

Then  bespake  a  squire  of  Northumberland, 

Richard  Wytharyngton  was  him  name; 
'It  shall  never  be  told  in  South-England,'  he  says, 

'To  king  Harry  the  fourth  for  shame. 

'I  wot  you  bin  great  lordes  twa, 

I  am  a  poor  squire  of  land; 
I  will  never  see  my  captain  fight  on  a  field, 

And  stand  myself,  and  looke  on. 
But  while  I  may  my  weapon  wield, 

I  will  not  fail  both  heart  and  hand.' 

That  day,  that  day,  that  dreadful  day! 

The  first  fit  here  I  find; 
And  you  will  hear  any  more  a'  the  hunting  a'  the  Cheviot, 

Yet  is  there  more  behind. 

The  English  men  had  their  bows  yebent, 

Their  hearts  were  good  enough; 
The  first  of  arrows  that  they  shot  off. 

Seven  score  spear-men  they  slough. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Yet  bides  the  Earl  Douglas  upon  the  bent, 

A  captain  good  enough, 
And  that  was  seene  verament, 

For  he  wrought  home  both  woe  and  wouche. 

The  Douglas  parted  his  host  in  three, 

Like  a  chefte  chieftan  of  pride, 
With  sure  spears  of  mighty  tree. 

They  come  in  on  every  side: 

Through  our  English  archery 

Gave  many  a  wound  full  wide; 
Many  a  doughty  they  gard  to  die, 

Which  gained  them  no  pride. 

The  English  men  let  their  bows  be, 

And  pulled  out  brands  that  were  bright; 

It  was  a  heavv  sight  to  see 

Bright  swords  on  basnets  light. 

Thorow  rich  mail  and  maniple. 

Many  sterne  the  stroke  down  straight; 

Many  a  freyke  that  was  full  free, 
There  under  foot  did  light. 

At  last  the  Douglas  and  the  Perse  met. 
Like  to  captains  ot  might  and  of  main; 

They  swept  together  till  they  both  swat. 
With  swords  that  were  of  fine  myllan. 

These  worthe  freykes  for  to  fight, 
There-to  they  were  full  fain. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Till  the  blood  out  of  their  basnets  sprent, 
As  ever  did  hail  or  rain. 

'Yield  thee,  Perse,'  said  the  Douglas, 

'And  i'  faith  I  shall  thee  bring 
Where  thou  shalt  have  a  earl's  wages 

Of  Jamy  our  Scottish  king. 

'Thou  shalt  have  thy  ransom  free, 

I  hight  thee  here  this  thing, 
For  the  manfullest  man  yet  art  thou. 

That  ever  I  conquered  in  field  fighting.* 

'Nay,'  said  the  lord  Perse, 

'I  told  it  thee  beforne, 
That  I  would  never  yielded  be 

To  no  man  of  a  woman  born.' 

With  that  there  cam  an  arrow  hastely, 

Forth  of  a  mighty  wane; 
It  hath  striken  the  earl  Douglas 

In  at  the  breast  bane. 

Thorow  liver  and  lungs,  baith 

The  sharp  arrow  is  gane. 
That  never  after  in  all  his  life-days, 

He  spake  mo  words  but  ane: 
That  was,  '  Fight  ye,  my  merry  men,  whiles  ye  may, 

For  my  life-days  ben  gane.' 

The  Perse  leaned  on  his  brand, 
And  saw  the  Douglas  dee; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

He  took  the  dead  man  by  the  hand, 
And  said,  'Woe  is  me  for  thee! 

'To  have  saved  thy  Hfe,  I  would  have  parted  with 

Kly  landes  for  years  three. 
For  a  better  man,  of  heart  nor  of  hand, 

Was  not  in  all  the  north  contre.' 

Of  all  that  see  a  Scottish  knight. 

Was  called  Sir  Hew  the  Monggombyrry; 

He  saw  the  Douglas  to  the  death  was  dight, 
He  spended  a  spear,  a  trusty  tree: — 

He  rode  upon  a  courser 

Through  a  hundrith  archery: 
He  never  stinted,  nor  never  blane, 

Till  he  came  to  the  good  lord  Perse. 

He  set  upon  the  lord  Perse 

A  dint  that  was  full  sore; 
With  a  sure  spear  of  a  mighty  tree 

Clean  thorow  the  body  he  the  Perse  bare, 

A'the  tother  side  that  a  man  might  see 

A  large  cloth  yard  and  mair: 
Two  better  captains  were  not  in  Christiante, 

Than  that  day  slain  were  there. 

An  archer  of  Northumberland 

Sae  slain  was  the  lord  Perse; 
He  bare  a  bend-bow  in  his  hand, 

Was  made  of  trusty  tree. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

An  arrow,  that  a  cloth  yard  was  lang, 

To  th'  hard  steel  haled  he; 
A  dint  that  was  both  sad  and  sore, 

He  set  on  Sir  Hewe  the  Monggomberry. 

The  dint  it  was  both  sad  and  sore, 

That  he  of  Monggomberry  set; 
The  swan-feathers,  that  his  arrow  bore, 

With  his  heart-blood  they  were  wet. 

There  was  never  a  freyke  one  foot  would  flee, 

But  still  in  stour  did  stand, 
Hewing  on  each  other,  while  they  might  dree, 

With  many  a  baleful  brand. 

This  battle  began  in  Cheviot 

An  hour  befor  the  noon, 
And  when  even-song  bell  was  rang, 

The  battle  was  not  half  done. 

Thev  took  ...  on  eithar  hand 

By  the  light  of  the  moon; 
Many  had  no  strength  for  to  stand, 

In  Cheviot  the  hills  aboun. 

Of  fifteen  hundrith  archers  of  England 
Went  away  but  seventy  and  three; 

Of  twenty  hundrith  spear-men  of  Scotland, 
But  even  five  and  fifty: 

But  all  were  slain  Cheviot  within; 

They  had  no  strength  to  stand  on  high; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  child  may  rue  that  is  unborn, 
It  was  the  more  pity. 

There  was  slain  with  the  lord  Perse, 

Sir  John  of  Agerstone, 
Sir  Roger,  the  hind  Hartly, 

Sir  William,  the  bold  Hearone. 

Sir  Jorg,  the  worthe  Loumle, 

A  knight  of  great  renown. 
Sir  Raff,  the  rich  Rugbe, 

With  dints  were  beaten  down. 

For  Wetharryngton  my  heart  was  woe, 

That  ever  he  slain  should  be; 
For  when  both  his  legs  were  hewn  in  two, 

Yet  he  kneeled  and  fought  on  his  knee. 

There  was  slain  with  the  doughty  Douglas, 

Sir  Hew  the  Monggomberry, 
Sir  Davy  Lydale,  that  worthy  was, 

His  sister's  son  was  he: 

Sir  Charls  o'  Murre  in  that  place. 

That  never  a  foot  would  flee; 
Sir  Hew  Maxwell,  a  lord  he  was, 

With  the  Douglas  did  he  dee. 

So  on  the  morrow  they  made  them  biers 

Of  birch  and  hazel  so  grey; 
Many  widows  with  weeping  tears 

Came  to  fetch  their  makes  away. 

333 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Tivydale  may  carp  of  care, 

Northumberland  may  make  great  moan, 
For  two  such  captains  as  slain  were  there, 

On  the  March-party  shall  never  be  none. 

•Word  is  commen  to  Eddenburrow, 

To  Jamy  the  Scottish  king. 
That  doughty  Douglas,  lieu-tenant  of  the  Merches 

He  lay  slain  Cheviot  with-in. 

His  handes  did  he  weal  and  wring, 

He  said,  'Alas,  and  woe  is  me!' 
Such  an  other  captain  Scotland  within, 

He  said,  i-faith  should  never  be. 

Word  is  commen  to  lovely  London, 

Till  the  fourth  Harry  our  king. 
That  Lord  Perse,  lieu-tenant  of  the  Marches 

He  lay  slain  Cheviot  within. 

'God  have  mercy  on  his  soul,'  said  king  Harry, 

'Good  lord,  if  thy  will  it  be! 
I  have  a  hundrith  captains  in  England,'  he  said, 

'As  good  as  ever  was  he: 
But  Perse,  and  I  brook  my  life. 

Thy  death  well  quit  shall  be.' 

As  our  noble  king  made  his  a-vow. 

Like  a  noble  prince  of  renown. 
For  the  death  of  the  lord  Perse 

He  did  the  battle  of  Hombyll-down: 
334 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Where  six  and  thirty  Scottish  knights 

On  a  day  were  beaten  down: 
Glendale  ghttered  on  their  armour  bright, 

Over  castle,  tower,  and  town. 

This  was  the  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot; 

That  tear  began  this  spurn: 
Old  men  that  knowen  the  ground  well  enough. 

Call  it  the  battle  of  Otterburn. 

At  Otterburn  began  this  spurn 

Upon  a  Monnyn  day: 
There  was  the  doughty  Douglas  slain, 

The  Perse  never  went  away. 

There  was  never  a  time  on  the  March-partys 
Sen  the  Douglas  and  the  Perse  met, 

But  it  was  marvel,  and  the  red  blude  ran  not. 
As  the  rain  does  in  the  street. 

Jesu  Christ  our  bales  bete. 

And  to  the  bliss  us  bring! 
Thus  was  the  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot: 

God  send  us  all  good  ending! 


y^nc 


i6g.  Kinmont  JVillie 


/^   HAVE  ye  na  heard  o'  the  fause  Sakelde  ? 
^-^     O  have  ye  na  heard  o'  the  keen  Lord  Scroope 
How  they  hae  taen  bauid  Kinmont  Willie, 
On  Hairibee  to  hang  him  up  1 

335 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Had  Willie  had  but  twenty  men, 

But  twenty  men  as  stout  as  he, 
Fause  Sakelde  had  never  the  Kinmont  taen 

Wi'  eight  score  in  his  companie. 

They  band  his  legs  beneath  the  steed, 
They  tied  his  hands  behind  his  back; 

They  guarded  him,  fivesome  on  each  side, 
And  they  brought  him  ovver  the  Liddel-rack. 

They  led  him  thro'  the  Liddel-rack, 

And  also  thro'  the  Carlisle  sands; 
They  brought  him  to  Carlisle  castell. 

To  be  at  my  Lord  Scroope's  commands. 

'My  hands  are  tied,  but  my  tongue  is  free, 

And  whae  will  dare  this  deed  avow  ? 
Or  answer  by  the  border  law  ? 

Or  answer  to  the  bauld  Buccleuch  ?' 

'Now  baud  thy  tongue,  thou  rank  reiver! 

There's  never  a  Scot  shall  set  ye  free: 
Before  ye  cross  my  castle-yate, 

I  trow  ye  shall  take  farewell  o'  me.' 

'Fear  na  ye  that,  my  lord,'  quo  Willie: 

'  By  the  faith  o'  my  body,  Lord  Scroope,'  he  said, 
'I  never  yet  lodged  in  a  hostelrie — 

But  I  paid  my  lawing  before  I  gaed.' 

Now  word  is  gane  to  the  bauld  Keeper, 
In  Branksome  Ha'  where  that  he  lay, 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

That  Lord  Scroope  has  taen  the  Kinmont  Willie, 
Between  the  hours  of  night  and  day. 

He  has  taen  the  table  wi'  his  hand, 
He  garrd  the  red  wine  spring  on  hie; 

'Now  Christ's  curse  on  my  head,'  he  said, 
'But  avenged  of  Lord  Scroope  I'll  be! 

*0  is  my  basnet  a  widow's  curch  ? 

Or  my  lance  a  wand  of  the  willow-tree  ? 
Or  my  arm  a  lady's  lilye  hand, 

That  an  English  lord  should  lightly  me  ? 

'And  have  they  taen  him,  Kinmont  Willie, 

Against  the  truce  of  Border  tide  ? 
And  forgotten  that  the  bauld  B;:cIouch 

Is  keeper  here  on  the  Scottish  side  ? 

'And  have  they  een  taen  him,  Kinmont  Willie, 

Withouten  either  dread  or  fear, 
And  forgotten  that  the  bauld  Bacleiich 

Can  back  a  steed,  or  shake  a  spear  ? 

'O  were  there  war  between  the  lands, 

As  well  I  wot  that  there  is  none, 
I  would  slight  Carlisle  castell  high, 

Tho'  it  were  builded  of  marble  stone. 

'I  would  set  that  castell  in  a  low, 

And  sloken  it  with  English  blood; 
There's  nevir  a  man  in  Cumberland  ' 

Should  ken  where  Carlisle  castell  stood. 

ZZ7 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'But  since  nae  war's  between  the  lands, 
And  there  is  peace,  and  peace  should  be; 

I'll  neither  harm  English  lad  or  lass, 
And  yet  the  Kinmont  freed  shall  be!' 

He  has  calld  him  forty  marchmen  bauld, 
I  trow  they  were  of  his  ain  name, 

Except  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot,  calld 

The  Laird  of  Stobs,  I  mean  the  same. 

He  has  calld  him  forty  marchmen  bauld, 
Were  kinsmen  to  the  bauld  Buccleuch, 

With  spur  on  heel,  and  splent  on  spauld. 
And  gleuves  of  green,  and  feathers  blue. 

There  were  five  and  five  before  them  a', 
Wi'  hunting-horns  and  bugles  bright; 

And  five  and  five  came  wi'  Buccleuch, 
Like  Warden's  men,  arrayed  for  fight. 

And  five  and  five,  like  a  mason-gang, 
That  carried  the  ladders  lang  and  hie; 

And  five  and  five,  like  broken  men; 

And  so  they  reached  the  Woodhouselee. 

And  as  we  cross'd  the  Bateable  Land, 
When  to  the  English  side  we  held. 

The  first  o'  men  that  we  met  wi', 
Whae  sould  it  be  but  fause  Sakelde! 

'Where  be  ye  gaun,  ye  hunters  keen  ?' 
Quo  fause  Sakelde;  'come  tell  to  mel' 
338 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

*We  go  to  hunt  an  English  stag, 

Has  trespassd  on  the  Scots  countrie.' 

'Where  be  ye  gaun,  ye  marshal-men  ?' 
Quo  fause  Salcelde;  'come  tell  me  true!' 

*We  go  to  catch  a  rank  reiver, 

Has  broken  faith  wi'  the  bauld  Buccleuch.' 

'Where  are  ye  gaun,  ye  mason-lads, 
Wi'  a'  your  ladders  lang  and  hie  ?' 

*We  gang  to  herry  a  corbie's  nest. 

That  wons  not  far  frae  Woodhouselee.' 

'Where  be  ye  gaun,  ye  broken  men  ?' 
Quo  fause  Sakelde:  'come  tell  to  me?' 

Now  Dickie  of  Dryhope  led  that  band. 
And  the  nevir  a  word  o'  lear  had  he. 

'Why  trepass  ye  on  the  English  side  ? 

Row-footed  outlaws,  stand!'  quo  he; 
The  neer  a  word  had  Dickie  to  say, 

Sae  he  thrust  the  lance  thro'  his  fause  bodie. 

Then  on  we  held  for  Carlisle  toun. 

And  at  Staneshaw-bank  the  Eden  we  crosd; 

The  water  was  great  and  meikle  of  spait, 
But  the  nevir  a  horse  nor  man  we  lost. 

And  when  we  reach'd  the  Staneshaw-bank, 
The  wind  was  rising  loud  and  hie; 

And  there  the  laird  garrd  leave  our  steeds. 
For  fear  that  they  should  stamp  and  nie. 

339 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  when  we  left  the  Sraneshaw-hank, 
The  wind  began  full  loud  to  blaw; 

But  'twas  wind  and  weet,  and  fire  and  sleet, 
When  we  came  beneath  the  castel-wa'. 

We  crept  on  knees,  and  held  our  breath, 
Till  we  placed  the  ladders  against  the  wa'; 

And  sae  ready  was  Bucclcuch  himsell 
To  mount  the  first  before  us  a'. 

He  has  taen  the  watchman  by  the  throat, 
He  flung  him  down  upon  the  lead; 

'Had  there  not  been  peace  between  our  lands, 
Upon  the  other  side  thou  hadst  gaed. 

'Now  sound  out,  trumpets!'  quo  Buccleuch; 

'Let's  waken  Lord  Scroope  right  merrilie!' 
Then  loud  the  warden's  trumpet  blew 

'O  whae  dare  meddle  wi'  me  ?' 

Then  speedilie  to  wark  we  gaed. 
And  raised  the  slogan  ane  and  a', 

And  cut  a  hole  through  a  sheet  of  kad. 
And  so  we  wan  to  the  castel-ha'. 

They  thought  King  James  and  a'  his  men 
Had  won  the  house  wi'  bow  and  speir; 

It  was  but  twenty  Scots  and  ten 
That  put  a  thousand  in  sic  a  stear! 

Wi'  coulter  and  wi'  fore-hammers, 
We  garrd  the  bars  bang  merrilie, 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Untill  we  came  to  the  inner  prison, 
Where  WiUie  o'  Kinmont  he  did  lie. 

And  when  we  came  to  the  lower  prison, 
Where  Willie  o'  Kinmont  he  did  lie, 

*0  sleep  ye,  wake  ye,  Kinmont  Willie, 
Upon  the  morn  that  thou's  to  die  ?' 

*0  I  sleep  saft,  and  I  wake  aft, 

It's  lang  since  sleeping  was  fley'd  frae  me; 
Gie  my  service  back  to  my  wyfe  and  bairns 

And  a'  gude  fellows  that  speer  for  me.' 

Then  Red  Rowan  has  hente  him  up. 
The  starkest  man  in  Teviotdale: 

'Abide,  abide  now.  Red  Rowan, 

Till  of  my  Lord  Scroope  I  take  farewell. 

'Farewell,  farewell,  my  gude  Lord  Scroope! 

My  gude  Lord  Scroope,  farewell!'  he  cried; 
'I'll  pay  you  for  my  lodging-maill, 

When  first  we  meet  on  the  border-side.' 

Then  shoulder  high,  with  shout  and  cry, 
We  bore  him  down  the  ladder  lang; 

At  every  stride  Red  Rowan  made, 

I  wot  the  Kinmont's  aims  playd  clang! 

*0  mony  a  time,*  quo  Kinmont  Willie, 

'I  have  ridden  horse  baith  wild  and  wood; 

But  a  rougher  beast  than  Red  Rowan, 
I  ween  my  legs  have  neer  bestrode. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'And  mony  a  time,'  quo  Kinmont  Willie, 
'I've  pricked  a  horse  out  oure  the  furs; 

But  since  the  day  I  backed  a  steed 
I  nevir  wore  sic  cumbrous  spurs!' 

We  scarce  had  won  the  Staneshaw-bank, 
When  a'  the  Carlisle  bells  were  rung, 

And  a  thousand  men,  in  horse  and  foot, 
Cam  wi'  the  keen  Lord  Scroope  along. 

Buccleuch  has  turned  to  Eden  Water, 
Even  where  it  flowed  frae  bank  to  brim, 

And  he  has  plunged  in  wi'  a'  his  band, 
And  saftly  swam  them  thro'  the  stream. 

He  turned  him  on  the  other  side, 

And  at  Lord  Scroope  his  glove  flung  he: 

'If  ye  like  na  mv  visit  in  merry  England, 
In  fair  Scotland  come  visit  me!' 

All  sore  astonished  stood  Lord  Scroope, 
He  stood  as  still  as  rock  of  stane; 

He  scarcely  dared  to  trew  his  eyes, 
When  thro'  the  water  they  had  gane. 

'He  is  either  himsell  a  devil  frae  hell, 
Or  else  his  mother  a  witch  maun  be; 

I  wad  na  have  ridden  that  wan  water 
For  a'  the  gowd  in  Christentie.' 


342 


Anon. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 


I'jo.  Captain  Care  or  Edom  O  Gordon 

TT  befell  at  Martynmas, 
-*-     When  wether  waxed  colde, 
Captaine  Care  said  to  his  men, 
We  must  go  take  a  holde. 

Sycke,  sike,  and  to-towe  sike, 

And  sike  and  like  to  die: 
And  sikest  nighte  that  ever  I  abode, 

God  lord  have  mercy  on  me! 

'Haille,  master,  and  wether  you  will. 

And  wether  ye  like  it  best;' 
'To  the  castle  of  Crecrynbroghe, 

And  there  we  will  take  our  reste.' 

T  knowe  wher  ia  a  gay  castle, 
Is  builded  of  lyme  and  stone; 

Within  their  ia  a  gay  ladie, 
Her  lord  is  riden  and  gone.' 

The  ladie  she  lend  on  her  castle-walle, 

She  loked  upp  and  downe; 
There  was  she  ware  of  an  host  of  men. 

Come  riding  to  the  towne. 

*Se  yow,  my  meri  men  all, 

And  se  yow  what  I  see  ? 
Yonder  I  see  an  host  of  men, 

I  muse  who  they  shold  bee.' 

343 


THE  BOOK  OF 

She  thought  he  had  ben  her  wed  lord, 

As  he  comd  riding  home; 
Then  was  it  traitor  Captaine  Care 

The  lord  of  Ester-towne. 

They  wer  no  soner  at  supper  sett, 

Then  after  said  the  grace, 
Or  Captaine  Care  and  all  his  men 

Wer  lighte  aboute  the  place. 

'Gyve  over  thi  howsse,  thou  lady  gay, 
And  I  will  make  the  a  bande; 

To-night  thou  shall  ly  within  my  armes, 
To-morrowe  thou  shall  ere  my  lande.' 

Then  bespacke  the  eldest  Sonne, 
That  was  both  whitt  and  redde: 

'O  mother  dere,  geve  over  your  howsse. 
Or  elles  we  shalbe  deade.' 

*I  will  not  geve  over  my  hous,'  she  saith, 

'Not  for  feare  of  my  lyffe; 
It  shalbe  talked  throughout  the  land, 

The  slaughter  of  a  wyffe. 

'Fetch  me  my  pestilett. 

And  charge  me  my  gonne, 
That  I  may  shott  at  this  bloddy  butcher, 

The  lord  of  Easter-towne.' 

Styfly  upon  her  wall  she  stode, 
And  lett  the  pellettes  flee; 
344 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  then  she  myst  the  blody  bucher, 
And  she  slew  other  three. 

'I  will  not  geve  over  my  hous,'  she  saithe, 

Netheir  for  lord  nor  lowne; 
Nor  yet  for  traitur  Captaine  Care, 

The  lord  of  Easter-towne. 

'I  desire  of  Captaine  Care, 

And  all  his  bloddye  band, 
That  he  would  save  my  eldest  Sonne, 

The  eare  of  all  my  lande.' 

'Lap  him  in  a  shete,'  he  sayth, 

'And  let  him  downe  to  me, 
And  I  shall  take  him  inmy  armes. 

His  waran  shall  I  be.' 

The  captyne  sayd  unto  him  selfe; 

Wyth  sped,  before  the  rest. 
He  cut  his  tonge  out  of  his  head. 

His  hart  out  of  his  brest. 

He  lapt  them  in  a  hankerchef. 

And  knet  it  of  knotcs  three. 
And  cast  them  over  the  castell-wall, 

At  that  gay  layde. 

'Fye  upon  the,  Captaine  Care, 

And  all  thy  bloddy  band! 
For  thou  hast  slayne  my  eldest  Sonne, 

The  ayre  of  all  my  land. ' 

345 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Then  bespake  the  youngest  Sonne, 
That  sat  on  the  nurse's  knee, 

Syath,  'Mother  gay,  geve  over  your  house; 
For  the  smoake  it  smoothers  me.' 

Out  then  spake  the  Lady  Magaret, 

As  she  stood  on  the  stair; 
The  fire  was  at  her  goud  garters, 

The  lowe  was  at  her  hair. 

'I  wold  geve  my  gold,'  she  saith, 

'And  so  I  wolde  my  ffee. 
For  a  blaste  of  the  westryn  wind. 

To  dryve  the  smoke  from  thee. 

*Fy  upon  thee,  John  Hamleton, 

That  ever  I  paid  hyre! 
For  thou  hast  broken  my  castle-wall. 

And  kyndled  in  the  ffyre.' 

The  lady  gate  to  her  close  parler. 
The  fire  fell  aboute  her  head; 

She  toke  up  her  children  two, 
Seth,  'Babes,  we  are  all  dead.' 

Then  bespake  the  hye  steward, 

That  is  of  hye  degree; 
Saith,  'Ladie  gay,  you  are  in  close. 

Wether  ye  fighte  or  flee.' 
346 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Lord  Hamleton  dremd  in  his  dream. 

In  Carvall  where  he  laye, 
His  halle  were  all  of  fyre, 

His  ladie  slanye  or  daye. 

'Busk  and  bowne,  my  mery  men  all, 

Even  and  go  ye  with  me; 
For  I  dremd  that  my  hall  was  on  fyre. 

My  lady  slayne  or  day.' 

He  buskt  him  and  bownd  hym, 

And  like  a  worthi  knighte; 
And  when  he  saw  his  hall  burning. 

His  harte  was  no  dele  lighte. 


He  sett  a  trumpet  till  his  mouth, 
He  blew  as  it  plesd  his  grace; 

Twenty  score  of  Hamletons 
Was  light  aboute  the  place. 


'Had  I  knowne  as  much  yesternighte 

As  I  do  to-daye, 
Captaine  Care  and  all  his  men 

Should  not  have  gone  so  quite. 

*Fye  upon  the,  Captaine  Care, 
And  all  thy  blody  bande! 

Thou  hast  slain  my  lady  gay. 
More  wurth  than  all  thy  lande. 


347 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'If  thou  had  ought  eny  ill  will,'  he  saith, 
'Thou  shoulde  have  taken  my  lyfFe, 

And  have  saved  my  children  thre, 
All  and  my  lovesome  wyffe.' 


A 


non. 


lyi.         The  Bonnie  House  O'  Airly 

T  T  fell  on  a  day,  and  a  bonny  summer  day, 
-*■   When  the  corn  grew  green  and  yellow, 
That  there  fell  out  a  great  dispute, 
Between  Argyle  and  Airly. 

The  Duke  o'  Montrose  has  written  to  Argyle 

To  come  in  the  morning  early, 
An'  lead  in  his  men,  by  the  back  o'  Dunkeld, 

To  plunder  the  bonnie  house  o'  Airly. 

The  lady  look'd  o'er  her  window  sae  high, 

And  O  but  she  looked  weary! 
And  there  she  espied  the  great  Argyle 

Come  to  plunder  the  bonny  house  o'  Airly. 

'Come  down,  come  down.  Lady  Margaret,'  he  says, 

'Come  down,  and  kiss  me  fairly, 
Or  before  the  morning  clear  daylight, 

I'll  no  leave  standing  stane  in  Airly. 

*I  wadna  kiss  thee,  great  Argyle, 
I  wadna  kiss  thee  fairly, 
348 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

I  wadna  kiss  thee,  great  Argyle, 

Gin  you  shouldna  leave  a'  standing  stane  in  Airly. 

He  has  ta'en  her  by  the  middle  sae  sma*, 

Says,  'Lady,  where  is  your  drury  ?' 
'It's  up  and  down  by  the  bonny  burn  side, 

Amang  the  planting  o'  Airly.' 

They  sought  it  up,  they  sought  it  down, 

They  sought  it  late  and  early. 
And  found  it  in  the  bonny  balm-tree. 

That  shines  on  the  bowling-green  o'  Airly. 

He  has  ta'en  her  by  the  left  shoulder. 

And  O  but  she  grat  sairly, 
And  led  her  down  to  yon  green  bank, 

Till  they  plundered  the  bonny  house  o'  Airly. 

'But  gin  my  good  lord  had  been  at  hame. 

As  this  night  he  is  wi'  Charlie, 
There  durst  na  a  Campbell  in  a'  the  west 

Hae  plundered  the  bonny  house  o'  Airly. 

'O  it's  I  hae  seven  braw  sons,'  she  says, 
'And  the  youngest  ne'er  saw  his  daddy, 

And  altho'  I  had  as  mony  mae, 
I  wad  gie  them  a'  to  Charlie.' 

Anon. 


349 


THE  BOOK  OF 
772.  Mary  Amhree 

\  ^  fHEN  captaines  couragious,  whom  death  cold  not 

'  ^       daunte, 
Did  march  to  the  siege  of  the  citty  of  Gaunt, 
They  mustred  their  souldiers  by  two  and  by  three, 
And  the  formost  in  battle  was  Mary  Ambree. 

When  the  brave  sergeant-major  was  slaine  in  her  sight. 
Who  was  her  true  lover,  her  joy,  and  delight, 
Because  he  was  slaine  most  treacherouslie 
Then  vowd  to  revenge  him  Mary  Ambree. 

She  clothed  herselfe  from  the  top  to  the  toe 

In  bufFe  of  the  bravest,  most  seemelye  to  showe; 

A  faire  shirt  of  male  then  slipped  on  shee: 

Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

A  helmett  of  proofe  shee  strait  did  provide, 
A  stronge  arminge-sword  shee  girt  by  her  side, 
On  her  hand  a  goodly  faire  gauntlett  put  shee: 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

Then  tooke  shee  her  sworde  and  her  targett  in  hand, 
Bidding  all  such,  as  wold,  to  bee  of  her  band; 
To  wayte  on  her  person  came  thousand  and  three: 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

'My  soldiers,'  she  saith,  'soe  valliant  and  bold, 
Nowe  followe  your  captaine,  whom  you  doe  beholde; 
Still  formost  in  battell  myselfe  will  I  bee:' 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Then  cryed  out  her  souldiers,  and  loude  they  did  say, 
*Soe  well  thou  becomest  this  gallant  array, 
Thy  harte  and  thy  weapons  so  well  do  agree, 
Noe  mayden  was  ever  like  Mary  Ambree.' 

She  cheared  her  souldiers,  that  foughten  for  life, 
With  ancyent  and  standard,  with  drum  and  with  fife, 
With  brave  clanging  trumpetts,  that  sounded  so  free; 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

*  Before  I  will  see  the  worst  of  you  all 
To  come  into  danger  of  death  or  of  thrall. 
This  hand  and  this  life  I  will  venture  so  free;' 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree? 

Shee  ledd  upp  her  souldiers  in  battaile  array, 

'Gainst  three  times  theyr  number  by  breake  of  the  daye; 

Seven  bowers  in  skirmish  continued  shee: 

Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

She  filled  the  skyes  with  the  smoke  of  her  shott, 
And  her  enemyes  bodyes  with  bulletts  so  hott; 
For  one  of  her  own  men  a  score  killed  shee: 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

And  when  her  false  gunner,  to  spoyle  her  intent. 
Away  all  her  pellets  and  powder  had  sent, 
Straight  with  her  keen  weapon  she  slasht  him  in  three: 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

Being  falselye  betrayed  for  lucre  of  hyre. 
At  length  she  was  forced  to  make  a  retyre; 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Then  her  souldiers  into  a  strong  castle  drew  shea: 
Was  not  this  a  brave  bonny  lasse,  Mary  Ambree  ? 

Her  foes  they  besett  her  on  everye  side, 
As  thinking  close  siege  shee  cold  never  abide; 
To  beat  down  the  walles  they  all  did  agree: 
But  stoutlye  defFyd  them  brave  Mary  Ambree. 

Then  tooke  shee  her  sword  and  her  targett  in  hand, 
And  mounting  the  walls  all  undaunted  did  stand, 
There  daring  their  captaines  to  match  any  three: 
O  what  a  brave  captaine  was  Mary  Ambree! 

'Now  saye,  English  captaine,  what  woldest  thou  give 
To  ransome  thy  selfe,  which  else  must  not  live  ? 
Come  yield  thyselte  quickly e,  or  slaine  thou  must  bee:* 
Then  smiled  sweetlye  brave  Mary  Ambree. 

'Ye  captaines  couragious,  of  valour  so  bold, 
Whom  thinke  }'ou  before  you  now  }ou  doe  behold  ?* 
'A  knight,  sir,  of  England,  and  captaine  soe  free, 
Who  shortlye  with  us  a  prisoner  must  bee.' 

'No  captaine  of  England;  behold  in  your  sight 
Two  brests  in  my  bosome,  and  therefore  no  knight: 
Noe  knight,  sirs,  of  England,  nor  captaine  you  see, 
But  a  poor  simple  mayden  called  Mary  Ambree/ 

'But  art  thou  a  woman,  as  thou  dost  declare, 
Whose  valour  hath  proved  so  undaunted  in  warre  ? 
If  England  doth  yield  such  brave  maydens  as  thee, 
Full  well  may  they  conquer,  faire  Mary  Ambree.' 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  Prince  of  Great  Parma  heard  of  her  renowne, 
Who  long  had  advanced  tor  England's  fair  crowne; 
Hee  wooed  her  and  sued  her  liis  mistress  to  bee, 
And  offered  rich  presencs  to  Mary  Ambree. 

But  this  virtuous  mayden  despised  them  all: 
Tie  nere  sell  my  honour  for  purple  nor  pall; 
A  mayden  of  England,  sir,  never  will  bee 
The  wench  of  a  monarcke,'  quoth  Mary  Ambree. 

Then  to  her  owne  country  shee  back  did  returne, 
Still  holding  the  foes  of  faire  England  in  scorne! 
Therfore  English  captaines  of  every  degree 
Sing  forth  the  brave  valours  of  Mary  Ambree. 

Anon. 


//J.  Bonnie  George   Campbell 

T  T  IE  upon  Hielands, 
-*■  ■*■      And  low  upon  Tay, 
Bonnie  George  Campbell 

Rade  out  on  a  day. 
Saddled  and  bridled 

And  gallant  rade  he; 
Hame  cam  his  gude  horse, 
But  never  cam  he! 

Out  cam  his  auld  mither 

Greeting  fu'  sair, 
And  out  cam  his  bonnie  bride 

Rivin'  her  hair. 

353 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Saddled  and  bridled 

And  booted  rade  he; 
Toom  hame  cam  the  saddle, 

But  never  cam  he! 

'My  meadow  lies  green, 
And  my  corn  is  unshorn; 

My  barfi  is  to  big, 

And  my  babie's  unborn.' 

Saddled  and  bridled 

And  booted  rade  he; 
Toom  hame  cam  the  sadle, 

But  never  cam  he! 


77^.  Earl  Brand 


OH  did  ye  ever  hear  o'  brave  Earl  Bran'  ? 
Ay  lally,  o  lilly  lally! 
He  courted  the  king's  daughter  of  fair  England, 
All  i'  the  night  sae  early. 

She  was  scarcely  fifteen  years  of  age 
Till  sae  boldly  she  came  to  his  bedside. 

'O  Earl  Bran',  fain  wad  I  see 
A  pack  of  hounds  let  loose  on  the  lea.' 

'O  lady,  I  have  no  steeds  but  one. 
And  thou  shalt  ride,  and  I  will  run.' 

354 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'O  Earl  Bran',  my  father  has  two, 

And  thou  shall  have  the  best  o'  them  a'.' 

They  have  ridden  o'er  moss  and  moor, 
And  they  met  neither  rich  nor  poor. 

Until  they  met  writh  old  Carl  Hood; 
He  comes  for  ill,  but  never  for  good. 

'Earl  Bran',  if  ye  love  me. 

Seize  this  old  carl,  and  gar  him  die.' 

*0  lady  fair,  it  wad  be  sair, 

To  slay  an  old  man  that  has  grey  hair. 

*0  lady  fair,  I'll  no  do  sae, 

I'll  gie  him  a  pound  and  let  him  gae.' 

*0  where  hae  ye  ridden  this  lee  lang  day  .'' 
O  where  hae  ye  stolen  this  lady  away  ?' 

I  have  not  ridden  this  lee  lang  day, 
Nor  yet  have  I  stolen  this  lady  away. 

'She  is  my  only,  my  sick  sister. 

Whom  I  have  brought  from  Winchester.' 

'If  she  be  sick,  and  like  to  dead. 
Why  wears  she  the  ribbon  sae  red  ? 

'If  she  be  sick,  and  like  to  die, 

Then  why  wears  she  the  gold  on  high  ?' 

355 


THE  BOOK  OF 

When  he  came  to  this  lady's  gate, 
Sae  rudely  as  he  rapped  at  it. 

'O  where's  the  lady  o'  this  ha'  ?' 

'She's  out  with  her  maids  to  play  at  the  ba'.' 

'Ha,  ha,  ha!  ye  are  a'  mista'en: 
Gae  count  your  maidens  o'er  again. 

The  father  armed  fifteen  of  his  best  men, 
To  bring  his  daughter  back  again. 

O'er  her  left  shoulder  the  lady  looked  then: 
'O  Earl  Bran',  we  both  are  tane.' 

'If  they  come  on  me  ane  by  ane. 
Ye  may  stand  by  and  see  them  slain. 

'But  if  they  come  on  me  one  and  all. 
Ye  may  stand  by  and  see  me  fall.' 

They  have  come  on  him  ane  by  ane. 
And  he  has  killed  them  all  but  ane. 

And  that  ane  came  behind  his  back, 
And  he's  gi'en  him  a  deadly  whack. 

But  for  a'  sae  wounded  as  Earl  Bran'  was. 
He  has  set  his  lady  on  her  horse. 

They  rode  till  they  came  to  the  water  o'  Doune, 
And  then  he  alighted  to  wash  his  wounds. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'O  Earl  Bran',  I  see  your  heart's  blood!' 
"Tis  but  the  gleat  o'  my  scarlet  hood.' 

They  rode  till  they  came  to  his  mother's  gate 
And  sae  rudely  as  he  rapped  at  it. 

*0  my  son's  slain,  my  son's  put  down. 
And  a'  for  the  sake  of  an  English  loun.' 

'O  say  not  sae,  my  dear  mother. 

But  marry  her  to  my  youngest  brother. 


'This  has  not  been  the  death  o'  ane. 
But  it's  been  that  o'  fair  seventeen.' 


A 


non. 


ij ^.  Johney  Scot 

/^\   JOHNEY  was  as  brave  a  knight 
^-^     As  ever  sail'd  the  sea. 
An'  he's  done  him  to  the  English  court, 
To  serve  for  meat  and  fee. 

He  had  nae  been  in  fair  England 

But  yet  a  little  while, 
Untill  the  kingis  ae  daughter 

To  Johney  proves  wi'  chil'. 

O  word's  come  to  the  king  himsel', 
In  his  chatr  where  he  sat, 

That  his  ae  daughter  was  wi'  bairn 
To  Jack,  the  Little  Scott. 

357 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Gin  this  be  true  that  I  do  hear, 

As  I  trust  well  it  be, 
Ye  pit  her  into  prison  strong, 

An'  starve  her  till  she  die.' 

O  Johney's  on  to  fair  Scotland, 

A  wot  he  went  wi'  speed. 
An'  he  has  left  the  kingis  court, 

A  wot  good  was  his  need. 

O  it  fell  once  upon  a  day 

That  Johney  he  thought  lang. 

An'  he's  gane  to  the  good  green  wood. 
As  fast  as  he  coud  gang. 

'O  whare  will  I  get  a  bonny  boy, 

To  tin  my  errand  soon, 
That  will  rin  into  fair  England, 

An'  haste  him  back  again  ?' 

0  up  it  starts  a  bonny  boy. 
Gold  yallow  was  his  hair, 

1  wish  his  mother  meickle  joy. 
His  bonnv  love  mieckle  mair. 

'O  here  am  I,  a  bonny  boy. 

Will  rin  your  errand  soon; 
I  will  gang  into  fair  England, 

An'  come  right  soon  again.' 

O  whan  he  came  to  broken  briggs. 
He  bent  his  bow  and  swam; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

An'  whan  he  came  to  the  green  grass  growan, 
He  slaikid  his  shoone  an'  ran. 

Whan  he  came  to  yon  high  castel, 

He  ran  it  roun'  about, 
An'  there  he  saw  the  king's  daughter, 

At  the  window  looking  out. 

'O  here's  a  sark  o'  silk,  lady, 

Your  ain  han'  sewd  the  sleeve; 
You'r  bidden  come  to  fair  Scotlan, 

Speer  nana  o'  your  parents'  leave. 

*Ha,  take  this  sark  o'  silk,  lady. 

Your  ain  han'  sewd  the  gare; 
You're  bidden  come  to  good  green  wood, 

Love  Johney  waits  you  there.' 

She's  turn'd  her  right  and  roun'  about, 

The  tear  was  in  her  e'e: 
'How  can  I  come  to  my  true-love. 

Except  I  had  wings  to  flee  ? 

'Here  am  I  kept  wi'  bars  and  bolts, 

Most  grievous  to  behold; 
My  breast-plate's  o'  the  sturdy  steel. 

Instead  of  the  beaten  gold. 

'But  tak'  this  purse,  my  bonny  boy. 

Ye  well  deserve  a  fee. 
An'  bear  this  letter  to  my  love. 

An'  tell  him  what  you  see.' 

359 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Then  quickly  ran  the  bonny  boy 

Again  to  Scotlan'  fair, 
An'  soon  he  reach'd  Pitnachton's  tow'rs, 

An'  soon  found  Johney  there. 

He  pat  the  letter  in  his  han', 

An'  taul  him  what  he  sa', 
But  eer  he  half  the  letter  read, 

He  loote  the  tears  doun  fa'. 

'O  I  will  gae  back  to  fair  Englan', 
Tho'  death  shoud  me  betide. 

An'  I  will  relieve  the  damesel 
That  lay  last  by  my  side.' 

Then  out  it  spake  his  father  dear, 
'My  son,  you  are  to  blame; 

An'  gin  you'r  catch'd  on  English  groun', 
I  fear  you'll  neer  win  hame.' 

Then  out  it  spake  a  valiant  knight, 
Johney's  best  friend  was  he; 

I  can  commaun'  five  hunder  men. 
An'  I'll  his  surety  be.' 

The  firstin  town  that  they  came  till, 
They  gard  the  bells  be  rung; 

An'  the  nextin  town  that,  they  came  till. 
They  gard  the  mess  be  sung. 

The  thirdin  town  that  they  came  till, 
They  gard  the  drums  beat  roun'; 
360 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  king  but  an'  his  nobles  a' 
Was  startl'd  at  the  soun'. 

Whan  they  came  to  the  king's  palace 

They  rade  it  roun'  about, 
An'  there  they  saw  the  king  himsel', 

At  the  window  looking  out. 

'Is  this  the  Duke  o'  Albany, 
Or  James,  the  Scottish  king  ? 

Or  are  ye  some  great  foreign  lord, 
That's  come  a  visiting  ?' 

'I'm  nae  the  Duke  of  Albany, 
Nor  James,  the  Scottish  king; 

But  I'm  a  valiant  Scottish  knight, 
Pitnachton  is  my  name.' 

'O  if  Pitnachton  be  your  name. 

As  I  trust  well  it  be, 
The  morn,  or  I  tast  meat  or  drink, 

You  shall  be  hanged  hi'.' 

Then  out  it  spake  the  valiant  knight 
That  came  brave  Johney  wi'; 

'Behold  five  hunder  bowmen  bold. 
Will  die  to  set  him  free.' 

Then  out  it  spake  the  king  again, 
An'  a  scornful  laugh  laugh  he; 

'I  have  an  Italian  in  my  house 
Will  fight  you  three  by  three.' 

361 


THE  BOOK  OF 

*0  grant  me  a  boon,'  brave  Johney  cried; 

'Bring  your  Italian  here; 
Then  if  he  fall  beneath  my  sword, 

I've  won  your  daughter  dear.' 

Then  out  it  came  that  Italian, 
An'  a  gurious  ghost  was  he; 

Upo'  the  point  o'  Johney's  sword 
This  Italian  did  die. 

Out  has  he  drawn  his  lang,  lang  bran*, 

Struck  it  across  the  plain: 
*Is  there  any  more  o'  your  English  dogs 

That  you  want  to  be  slain  ?' 

'A  dark,  a  dark,'  the  king  then  cried, 

'To  write  her  tocher  free;' 
'A  priest,  a  priest,'  says  Love  Johney, 

'To  marry  my  love  and  me. 

'I'm  seeking  nane  o'  your  gold,'  he  says, 

'Nor  of  your  silver  clear; 
I  only  seek  your  daughter  fair. 

Whose  love  has  cost  her  dear.' 

Jnon. 

jy6.       The  Dowy  Hoiims  of   Yarrow 

T    ATE  at  e'en,  drinkin'  the  wine, 
*—^     And  ere  they  paid  the  mornin' 
They  set  a  combat  them  between. 
To  fight  it  in  the  dawnin'. 
362 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

*0  stay  at  hame,  my  noble  lord! 

O  stay  at  hame,  my  marrow! 
My  cruel  brother  will  you  betray, 

On  the  dowy  houms  o'  Yarrow.' 

*0  fare  ye  weel,  my  lady  gaye! 

0  fare  ye  weel,  my  Sarah! 

For  I  maun  gae,  tho'  I  ne'er  return 
Frae  the  dowy  banks  o'  Yarrow.' 

She  kiss'd  his  cheek,  she  kaimd  his  hair. 

As  she  had  done  before,  O; 
She  belted  on  his  noble  brand. 

An'  he's  awa  to  Yarrow. 

O  he's  gane  up  yon  high,  high  hill — 

1  wat  he  gaed  wi'  sorrow — 

An'  in  a  den  spied  nine  arm'd  men, 
F  the  dowy  houms  o'  Yarrow. 

*0  are  ye  come  to  drink  the  wine. 

As  ye  hae  doon  before,  O  .? 
Or  are  ye  come  to  wield  the  brand, 

On  the  dowy  banks  o'  Yarrow  ?' 

*I  am  no  come  to  drink  the  wine. 

As  I  hae  doon  before,  O, 
But  I  am  come  to  wield  the  brand, 

On  the  dowy  houms  o'  Yarrow.' 

Four  he  hurt,  an'  five  he  slew, 
On  the  dowy  houms  o'  Yarrow, 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Till  that  stubborn  knight  came  him  behind, 
An'  ran  his  body  thorrow.' 

'Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  good  brother  John, 

An'  tell  your  sister  Sarah 
To  come  an'  lift  her  noble  lord. 

Who's  sleepin*  sound  on  Yarrow.' 

'Yestreen  I  dream'd  a  dolefu'  dream; 

I  ken'd  there  wad  be  sorrow; 
I  dream'd  I  pu'd  the  heather  green. 

On  the  dowy  banks  o'  Yarrow.' 

She  gaed  up  yon  high,  high  hill — 

I  wat  she  gaed  wi'  sorrow — 
An'  in  a  den  spied  nine  dead  men. 

On  the  dowy  houms  o'  Yarrow. 

She  kiss'd  his  cheek,  she  kaim'd  his  hair, 

As  oft  she  did  before,  O; 
She  drank  the  red  blood  frae  him  ran. 

On  the  dowy  houms  o'  Yarrow. 

'O  baud  your  tongue,  my  douchter  dear, 
For  what  needs  a'  this  sorrow  ? 

I'll  wed  you  on  a  better  lord 
Than  him  you  lost  on  Yarrow.' 

'O  baud  your  tongue,  my  father  dear. 

An'  dinna  grieve  your  Sarah; 
A  better  lord  was  never  born 

Than  him  I  lost  on  Yarrow. 
364 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Tak  hame  your  ousen,  tak  hame  your  kye, 

For  they  hae  bred  our  sorrow; 
I  wiss  that  they  had  a'  gane  mad 

Whan  they  cam  first  to  Yarrow.' 


A 


non. 


The   Twa  Sisters 

'  I  ''HERE  was  twa  sisters  in  a  bowr, 

-*-        Btnnorte,  O  Bmnorte! 
There  cam  a  knight  to  be  their  wooer, 

By  the  bonnie  milldams  o'  Binnorte. 

He  courted  the  eldest  wi  glove  and  ring, 
But  he  loved  the  youngest  abune  a'  thing. 

He  courted  the  eldest  wi  brotch  and  knife, 
But  lovd  the  youngest  as  his  life. 

The  eldest  she  was  vexed  sair. 
And  much  envi'd  her  sister  fair. 

Upon  a  morning  fair  and  clear, 
She  cried  upon  her  sister  dear: 

'O  sister,  come  to  yon  sea  stran. 

An  see  our  father's  ships  come  to  Ian.' 

She's  taen  her  by  the  milk-white  han. 
An  led  her  down  to  yon  sea  stran. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  youngest  stood  upon  a  stane. 
The  eldest  came  and  threw  her  in. 

She  took  her  by  the  middle  sma, 

An  dashed  her  Bonnie  back  to  the  jaw. 

'O  sister,  sister,  tak  my  han. 

An  Ise  mack  you  heir  to  a'  my  Ian. 

*0  sister,  sister,  tak  my  middle 

An  yes  get  my  goud  and  my  gouden  girdle. 

'O  sister,  sister,  save  my  life. 

An  I  swear  Ise  never  be  nae  man's  wife. 

'Foul  fa  the  han  that  I  should  tacke, 
It  twind  me  an  my  wardles  make. 

'Your  cherry  cheeks  an  yallow  hair 
Gars  me  gae  laiden  for  evermair.' 

Sometimes  she  sank,  an  sometimes  she  swam, 
Till  she  came  down  yon  bonny  mill-dam. 

O  out  it  came  the  miller's  son. 
An  saw  the  fair  maid  swimmin  in. 

'O  father,  father,  draw  your  dam, 
Here's  either  a  mermaid  or  a  swan.' 

The  miller  quickly  drew  the  dam. 
And  there  he  found  a  drownd  woman. 
366 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

You  coudna  see  her  yellow  hair 

For  gold  and  pearle  that  were  so  rare. 

You  coudna  see  her  middle  sma 
For  gouden  rings  that  was  sae  gryte. 

An  by  there  came  a  harper  fine, 
That  harped  to  the  king  at  dine. 

When  he  did  look  that  lady  upon, 
He  sighd  and  made  a  heavy  moan. 

He's  taen  three  locks  o  her  yallow  hair, 
An  wi  them  strung  his  harp  sae  fair. 

The  first  tune  he  did  play  and  sing. 
Was,  'Farewell  to  my  mother  the  queen.' 

The  lasten  tune  that  he  playd  then, 

Binnone,  O  Binnorie! 
Was,  'Wae  to  my  sister,  fair  Ellen.' 

By  the  bonnie  milldams  o    Binnone. 


An 


on. 


Clerk  Saunders 

/^~^LERK  Saunders  and  may  Margaret 
^-^  Walk'd  owre  yon  garden  green; 
And  sad  and  heavy  was  the  love 
That  fell  thir  twa  between. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'A  bed,  a  bed,'  Clerk  Saunders  said, 

'A  bed  for  you  and  me!' 
'Fye  na,  fye  na,'  said  may  Margaret, 

'Till  anes  we  married  be!' 

For  in  may  come  my  seven  bauld  brothers, 

Wi'  torches  burning  bright; 
They'll  say, — 'We  hae  but  ae  sister, 

And  behold  she's  wi'  a  knight!' 

'Then  take  the  sword  frae  my  scabbard, 

And  slowly  lift  the  pin; 
And  you  may  swear,  and  save  your  aith, 

Ye  ne'er  let  Clerk  Saunders  in. 

'Take  you  a  napkin  in  your  hand, 
And  tie  up  baith  your  bonnie  e'en. 

And  you  may  swear,  and  save  your  aith. 
Ye  saw  me  na  since  late  yestreen.' 

It  was  about  the  midnight  hour, 

When  they  asleep  were  laid. 
When  in  and  came  her  seven  brothers, 

Wi'  torches  burning  red. 

When  in  and  came  her  seven  brothers, 

Wi'  torches  burning  bright: 
They  said,  'We  hae  but  ae  sister. 

And  behold  her  lying  with  a  knight!' 

Then  out  and  spake  the  first  o'  them, 

'I  bear  the  sword  shall  gar  him  die.' 
368 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  out  and  spake  the  second  o'  them, 
'His  father  has  nae  mair  but  he.' 

And  out  and  spake  the  third  o'  them, 

'I  wot  that  they  are  lovers  dear.' 
And  out  and  spake  the  fourth  o'  them, 

'They  hae  been  in  love  this  mony  a  year.' 

Then  out  and  spake  the  fifth  o'  them, 
'It  were  great  sin  true  love  to  twain.' 

And  out  and  spake  the  sixth  o'  them, 
'It  were  shame  to  slay  a  sleeping  man.' 

Then  up  and  gat  the  seventh  o'  them, 

And  never  a  word  spake  he; 
But  he  has  striped  his  bright  brown  brand 

Out  through  Clerk  Saunders'  fair  bodye. 

Clerk  Saunders  he  started,  and  Marg'ret  she  turn'd 

Into  his  arms  as  asleep  she  lay; 
And  sad  and  silent  was  the  night 

That  was  atween  thir  twae. 

And  they  lay  still,  and  sleepit  sound. 

Albeit  the  sun  began  to  sheen; 
She  look'd  atween  her  and  the  wa 

And  dull  and  drowsie  were  his  e'en. 

Then  in  and  came  her  father  dear; 

Said,  'Let  a'  your  mourning  be; 
I'll  carry  the  dead  corpse  to  the  clay, 

And  I'll  come  back  and  comfort  thee.' 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Comfort  weel  your  seven  sons, 

For  comforted  I  will  never  be: 
I  ween  'twas  neither  knave  nor  loon 

Was  in  the  bower  last  night  wi'  me.' 

The  clinking  bell  gaed  through  the  town, 

To  carry  the  dead  corse  to  the  clay, 
And  Clerk  Saunders  stood  at  may  Marg'ret's  window, 

I  wot,  an  hour  before  the  day. 

'Are  ye  sleeping,  Marg'ret  ?'  he  says, 

'Or  are  ye  walking  presentlie  ? 
Give  me  my  faith  and  troth  again, 

I  wot,  true  love,  I  gied  to  thee.' 

'Your  faith  and  troth  ye  sail  never  get, 

Nor  our  true  love  sail  never  twin, 
Until  ye  come  within  my  bower. 

And  kiss  me  cheik  and  chin.' 

'My  mouth  it  is  full  cold,  Marg'ret; 

It  has  the  smell,  now,  of  the  ground; 
And  if  I  kiss  thy  comely  mouth. 

Thy  days  of  life  will  not  be  lang. 

'O  cocks  are  crowing  a  merry  midnight; 

I  wot  the  wild  fowls  are  boding  day; 
Give  me  my  faith  and  troth  again. 

And  let  me  fare  me  on  my  way.' 

'Thy  faith  and  troth  thou  sail  na  get, 
And  our  true  love  sail  never  twin. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Until  ye  tell  what  comes  o'  women, 
I  wot,  who  die  in  strong  traivelling  ?' 

'Their  beds  are  made  in  the  heavens  high, 
Down  at  the  foot  of  our  good  Lord's  knee, 

Weel  set  about  wi'  gillyflowers; 
I  wot,  sweet  company  for  to  see. 

'O  cocks  are  crowing  a  merry  midnight; 

I  wot  the  wild  fowls  are  boding  day; 
The  psalms  of  heaven  will  soon  be  sung. 

And  I,  ere  now,  will  be  miss'd  away.' 

Then  she  has  taken  a  crystal  wand, 
And  she  has  stroken  her  troth  thereon; 

She -has  given  it  him  out  at  the  shot-window, 
Wi'  mony  a  sad  sigh  and  heavy  groan. 

'I  thank  ye,  Marg'ret;  I  thank  ye,  Marg'ret; 

And  ay  I  thank  ye  heartilie; 
Gin  ever  the  dead  come  for  the  quick, 

Be  sure,  Marg'ret,  I'll  come  for  thee.* 

It's  hosen  and  shoon,  and  gown  alone. 
She  climb'd  the  wall,  and  follow'd  him, 

Until  she  came  to  the  green  forest. 
And  there  she  lost  the  sight  o'  him. 

'Is  there  ony  room  at  your  head,  Saunders  } 

Is  there  ony  room  at  your  feet  ? 
Or  ony  room  at  your  side,  Saunders, 

Where  fain,  fain,  I  wad  sleep  .'" 

3/1 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'There's  nae  room  at  my  head,  Marg'ret, 
There's  nae  room  at  my  feet; 

My  bed  it  is  fu'  lowly  now, 

Amang  the  hungry  worms  I  sleep. 


'Cauld  mould  is  my  covering  now. 
But  and  my  winding-sheet; 

The  dew  it  falls  nae  sooner  down 
Than  my  resting-place  is  weet. 


'But  plait  a  wand  o'  bonny  birk. 
And  lay  it  on  my  breast; 

And  shed  a  tear  upon  my  grave, 
And  wish  my  saul  gude  rest. 


'And  fair  Marg'ret,  and  rare  Marg'ret, 

And  Marg'ret,  o'  veritie, 
Gin  ere  ye  love  another  man. 

Ne'er  love  him  as  ye  did  me.' 


Then  up  and  crew  the  milk-white  cock, 

And  up  and  crew  the  gray; 
Her  lover  vanish'd  in  the  air. 

And  she  gaed  weeping  away. 

Anon. 


Z72 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

I'jg.       Love  Gregor;  or,   the  Lass   of 
Lochroyan 

C^  WHA  will  shoe  mv  fu'  fair  foot  ? 
^-^     And  wha  will  glove  my  hand  ? 
And  wha  will  lace  my  middle  jimp, 
Wi'  the  new  made  London  hand  ? 

'And  wha  will  kaim  my  yellow  hair, 
Wi'  the  new  made  silver  kaim  ? 

And  wha  will  father  my  young  son, 
Till  Love  Gregor  come  hame  ?' 

'Your  father  will  shoe  your  fu'  fair  foot, 
Your  mother  will  glove  your  hand; 

Your  sister  will  lace  your  middle  jimp 
Wi'  the  new  made  London  band. 

'Your  brother  will  kaim  your  yellow  hair, 
Wi'  the  new  made  silver  kaim; 

And  the  king  of  heaven  will  father  your  bairn. 
Till  Love  Gregor  come  haim.' 

'  But  I  will  get  a  bonny  boat, 

And  I  will  sail  the  sea, 
For  I  maun  gang  to  Love  Gregor, 

Since  he  canno  come  hame  to  me.' 

O  she  has  gotten  a  bonny  boat, 

And  sail'd  the  sa't  sea  fame; 
She  langd  to  see  her  ain  true-love. 

Since  he  could  no  come  hame. 

373 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'O  row  your  boat,  my  mariners, 

And  bring  me  to  the  land, 
For  yonder  I  see  my  love's  castle, 

Close  by  the  sa't  sea  strand.' 

She  has  ta'en  her  young  son  in  her  arms, 

And  to  the  door  she's  gone, 
And  lang  she's  knocked  and  sair  she  ca'd. 

But  answer  got  she  none. 

'O  open  the  door,  Love  Gregor,'  she  says, 

'O  open,  and  let  me  in; 
For  the  winds  blows  thro'  my  yellow  hair, 

And  the  rain  draps  o'er  my  chin.' 

'Awa,  awa,  ye  ill  woman, 

You'r  nae  come  here  for  good; 

You'r  but  some  witch,  or  wile  warlock, 
Or  mermaid  of  the  flood.' 

'  I  am  neither  a  witch  nor  a  wile  warlock. 

Nor  mermaid  of  the  sea, 
I  am  Fair  Annie  of  Rough  Royal; 

O  open  the  door  to  me.' 

'Gin  ye  be  Annie  of  Rough  Royal — 
And  I  trust  ye  are  not  she — 

Now  tell  me  some  of  the  love-tokens 
That  past  between  you  and  me.' 

'O  dinna  ye  mind  now.  Love  Gregor, 
When  we  sat  at  the  wine, 

374 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

How  we  changed  the  rings  frae  our  fingers  ? 
And  I  can  show  thee  thine. 

'O  yours  was  good,  and  good  euneugh, 

But  ay  the  best  was  mine; 
For  yours  was  o'  the  good  red  good, 

But  mine  o'  the  diamonds  fine. 

'  But  open  the  door  now,  Love  Gregor, 

O  open  the  door  I  pray, 
For  your  young  son  that  is  in  my  arms 

Will  be  dead  ere  it  be  day.' 

'Awa,  awa,  ye  ill  woman. 

For  here  ye  shanno  win  in; 
Gae  drown  ye  in  the  raging  sea, 

Or  hang  on  the  gallows-pin.' 

When  the  cock  had  crawn,  and  day  did  dawn, 

And  the  sun  began  to  peep. 
Then  it  raise  him.  Love  Gregor, 

And  sair,  sair  did  he  weep. 

*0  I  dreamd  a  dream,  my  mother  dear, 
The  thoughts  o'  it  gars  me  greet. 

That  Fair  Annie  of  Rough  Royal 
Lay  cauld  dead  at  my  feet.' 

'Gin  it  be  for  Annie  of  Rough  Royal 

That  ye  mak  a'  this  din. 
She  stood  a'  last  night  at  this  door. 

But  I  trow  she  wan  no  in.' 

375 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'O  wae  betide  ye,  ill  woman, 

An  ill  dead  may  ye  die! 
That  ye  woud  no  open  the  door  to  her. 

Nor  yet  woud  waken  me.' 

O  he  has  gone  down  to  yon  shore-side, 

As  fast  as  he  could  fare; 
He  saw  Fair  Annie  in  her  boat, 

But  the  wind  it  tossed  her  sair. 

And  'Hey,  Annie!'  and  'How,  Annie!' 

O  Annie,  winna  ye  bide  ?' 
But  ay  the  mair  that  he  cried  'Annie,' 

The  braider  grew  the  tide. 

And  'Hey,  Annie!'  and  'How,  Annie! 

Dear  Annie,  speak  to  me!' 
But  ay  the  louder  he  cried  'Annie,' 

The  louder  roared  the  sea. 

The  wind  blew  loud,  the  sea  grew  rough, 
And  dashd  the  boat  on  shore; 

Fair  Annie  floats  on  the  raging  sea. 
But  her  young  son  raise  no  more. 

Love  Gregor  tare  his  yellow  hair, 

And  made  a  heavy  moan; 
Fair  Annie's  corpse  lay  at  his  feet, 

But  her  bonny  young  son  was  gone. 

O  cherry,  cherry  was  her  cheek, 
And  gowden  was  her  hair, 
3/6 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  clay  cold  were  her  rosey  lips, 
Nae  spark  of  life  was  there, 

And  first  he's  kissd  her  cheery  cheek. 

And  neist  he's  kissed  her  chin; 
And  saftly  pressed  her  rosey  lips, 

But  there  was  nae  breath  within. 

*0  wae  betide  my  cruel  mother, 

And  an  ill  dead  may  she  die! 
For  she  turnd  my  true-love  frae  my  door, 

When  she  came  sae  far  to  me.' 

Anon. 


i8o.  Child  fVaters 

/^HILDE  WATERS  in  his  stable  stoode, 
^-^  And  stroaket  his  milke-white  steede; 
To  him  came  a  faire  young  ladye 
As  ere  did  weare  womans  weede. 

Sales,  'Christ  you  save,  good  Chyld  Waters!' 
Saycs,  'Christ  you  save  and  see! 

My  girdle  of  gold  which  was  too  longe 
Is  now  too  short  for  mee. 

'And  all  is  with  one  chyld  of  yours, 

I  feele  sturre  att  my  side: 
My  gowne  of  greene,  it  is  to  strayght; 

Before  it  was  to  wide.' 

377 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'If  the  child  be  mine,  faire  Ellen,'  he  sayd, 

'Be  mine,  as  you  tell  mee, 
Take  you  Cheshire  and  Lancashire  both, 

Take  them  your  owne  to  bee. 

'If  the  child  be  mine,  ffaire  Ellen,'  he  said, 

'Be  mine,  as  you  doe  sweare, 
Take  you  Cheshire  and  Lancashire  both, 

And  make  that  child  your  heyre.' 

Shee  saies,  'I  had  rather  have  one  kisse, 

Child  Waters,  of  thy  mouth, 
Then  I  would  have  Cheshire  and  Lancashire  both, 

That  lyes  by  north  and  south. 

'And  I  had  rather  have  a  twinkling 

Child  Waters,  of  your  eye, 
Then  I  would  have  Cheshire  and  Lancashire  both, 

To  take  them  mine  oune  to  bee!' 

'To-morrow,  Ellen,  I  must  forth  ryde 

Soe  ffar  into  the  north  countrye; 
The  fairest  lady  that  I  can  ffind, 

Ellen,  must  goe  with  mee.' 
'And  ever  I  pray  you,  Child  Watters, 

Your  ffootpage  let  me  bee!' 

'If  you  will  my  ffootpage  be,  Ellen, 

As  you  doe  tell  itt  mee. 
Then  you  must  cut  your  gownne  of  greene 

An  inch  above  your  knee. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Soe  must  you  doe  your  yellow  locks 

Another  inch  above  your  eye; 
You  must  tell  no  man  what  is  my  name; 

My  ffootpage  then  you  shall  bee.' 

All  this  long  day  Child  Waters  rode, 
Shee  ran  bare  ffoote  by  his  side; 

Yett  was  he  never  soe  curteous  a  knight, 
To  say,  '  Ellen,  will  you  ryde  ?' 

But  all  this  day  Child  Waters  rode, 
She  ran  barfFoote  thorow  the  broome; 

Yett  he  was  never  soe  curteous  a  knight 
As  to  say,  'Put  on  your  shoone.' 

'Ride  softlye,'  shee  said,  'Child  Walters: 

Why  do  you  ryde  soe  fFast  ? 
The  child,  which  is  no  mans  but  yours. 

My  bodye  itt  will  burst.' 

He  sayes,  'Sees  thou  yonder  water,  Ellen, 
That  fflowes  from  banke  to  brim  .'" 

'I  trust  to  God,  Child  Waters,'  shee  sayd, 
'You  will  never  sec  mee  swime.' 

But  when  shee  came  to  the  waters  side, 

Shee  sayled  to  the  chinne: 
'Except  the  lord  of  heaven  be  my  speed. 

Now  must  I  learne  to  swime.' 

The  salt  waters  bare  up  Ellens  clothes, 
Oure  Ladye  bare  upp  her  chinne, 

379 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  Child  Waters  was  a  woe  man,  good  Lord, 
To  see  faire  Ellen  swime. 

Ane  when  shee  over  the  water  was, 

Shee  then  came  to  his  knee: 
He  said,  'Come  hither,  fFaire  Ellen, 

Loe  yonder  what  I  see! 

'Seest  thou  not  yonder  hall,  Ellen? 

Of  redd  gold  shine  the  yates; 
There's  four  and  twenty  fFayre  ladyes, 

The  fFairest  is  my  wordlye  make. 

'Seest  thou  not  yonder  hall,  Ellen? 

Of  redd  gold  shineth  the  tower; 
There  is  four  and  twenty  ffaire  ladyes. 

The  fairest  is  my  paramoure.' 

'I  doe  see  the  hall  now,  Child  Waters, 
That  of  redd  gold  shineth  the  yates; 

God  give  good  then  of  your  selfe, 
And  of  your  wordlye  make! 

'I  doe  see  the  hall  now,  Child  Waters, 
That  of  redd  gold  shineth  the  tower; 

God  give  good  then  of  your  selfe. 
And  of  youre  paramoure!' 

There  were  four  and  twenty  ladyes. 

Were  playing  att  the  ball; 
And  Ellen,  was  the  fFairest  ladye. 

Must  brmg  his  steed  to  the  stall. 
380 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

There  were  four  and  twenty  faire  ladyes 

Was  playing  att  the  chesse; 
And  Ellen,  shee  was  ffairest  ladye, 

Must  bring  his  horsse  to  grasse. 

And  then  bespake  Child  Waters  sister, 
And  these  were  the  words  said  shee: 

'You  have  the  prettyest  fFootpage,  brother, 
That  ever  I  saw  with  mine  eye; 

'But  that  his  belly  it  is  soe  bigg, 

His  girdle  goes  wondrous  hye; 
And  ever  I  pray  you,  Child  Waters, 

Let  him  go  into  the  chamber  with  me.' 

'It  is  more  meete  for  a  little  fFootpage, 
That  has  run  through  mosse  and  mire, 

To  take  his  supper  upon  his  knee 
And  sitt  downe  by  the  kitchin  fyer. 

Then  to  go  into  the  chamber  with  any  ladye 
That  weares  so  rich  attyre.' 

'I  pray  you  now,  good  Child  Waters, 

That  I  may  creepe  in  att  your  bedds  feete. 

For  there  is  noe  place  about  this  house 
Where  I  may  say  a  sleepe.' 

This  night  and  itt  drove  on  afFterward 

Till  itt  was  neere  the  day: 
He  sayd,  'Rise  up,  my  little  ffoote  page, 

And  give  my  steed  corne  and  hay; 

381 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  soe  doe  thou  the  good  blacke  oates, 
That  he  may  carry  me  the  better  away.' 

And  up  then  rose  ffaire  Ellen, 

And  gave  his  steed  corne  and  hay, 

And  soe  shee  did  the  good  blacke  oates, 
That  he  might  carry  him  the  better  away. 

Shee  layned  her  backe  to  the  manger  side. 

And  greivouslye  did  groane; 
And  that  beheard  his  mother  deere, 

And  heard  her  make  her  moane. 

She  said,  'Rise  up,  thou  Child  Waters! 

I  thinke  thou  art  a  cursed  man; 
For  yonder  is  a  ghost  in  thy  stable, 

That  greivously  doth  groane, 
Or  else  some  woman  laboures  of  child, 

Shee  is  soe  woe  begone!' 

But  up  then  rose  Child  Waters, 
And  did  put  on  his  shirt  of  silke; 

Then  he  put  on  his  other  clothes 
On  his  body  as  white  as  milke. 

And  when  he  came  to  the  stable  dore, 

Full  still  that  bee  did  stand. 
That  hee  might  heare  now  faire  Ellen, 

How  shee  made  her  monand. 

Shee  said,  'LuUabye,  my  owne  deere  child! 

Lullabye,  deere  child,  deere! 
382 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

I  wold  thy  father  were  a  king, 
Thy  mother  layd  on  a  beere!' 

'Peace  now,'  he  said,  'good  faire  Ellen! 

And  be  of  good  cheere,  I  thee  pray. 
And  the  bridall  and  the  churching  both, 

They  shall  bee  upon  one  day.' 

i8i.  Fair  Annie 

TT'S  narrow,  narrow,  make  your  bed, 

-■■     And  learn  to  lie  your  lane; 

For  I'm  ga'n  oer  the  sea.  Fair  Annie, 

A  braw  bride  to  bring  hame. 
Wi'  her  I  will  get  gowd  and  gear; 

Wi'  you  I  neer  got  nane. 

'But  wha  will  bake  my  bridal  bread. 

Or  brew  my  bridal  ale  ? 
And  wha  will  welcome  my  brisk  bride. 

That  I  bring  oer  the  dale  ? 

'But  she  that  welcomes  my  brisk  bride 
Maun  gang  like  maiden  fair; 

She  maun  lace  on  her  robe  sae  jimp. 
And  braid  her  yellow  hair.' 

'But  how  can  I  gang  maiden-like. 
When  maiden  I  am  nane  ? 

Have  I  not  born  seven  sons  to  thee. 
And  am  with  child  again  V 


At 


383 


THE  BOOK  OF 

She's  taen  her  young  son  in  her  arms, 

Another  in  her  hand, 
And  she's  up  to  the  highest  tower, 

To  see  him  come  to  land. 

'Come  up,  come  up,  my  eldest  son, 

And  look  oer  yon  sea-strand. 
And  see  your  father's  new-come  bride, 

Before  she  come  to  land.' 

'Come  down,  come  down,  my  mother  dear, 

Come  frae  the  castle  wa! 
I  fear,  if  langer  ye  stand  there, 

Ye'U  let  yoursell  down  fa'. 

And  she  gaed  down,  and  farther  down. 

Her  love's  ship  for  to  see. 
And  the  topmast  and  the  mainmast 

Shone  like  the  silver  free. 

And  she's  gane  down,  and  farther  down, 

The  bride's  ship  to  behold. 
And  the  topmast  and  the  mainmast 

They  shone  just  like  the  gold. 

She's  taen  her  seven  sons  in  her  hand, 

I  wot  she  didna  fail; 
She  met  Lord  Thomas  and  his  bride. 

As  they  came  oer  the  dale. 

'You're  welcome  to  your  house.  Lord  Thomas, 
You're  welcome  to  your  land; 
384 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

You're  welcome  with  your  fair  ladye, 
That  you  lead  by  the  hand. 

'You're  welcome  to  your  ha's,  ladye, 
You're  welcome  to  your  bowers; 

You're  welcome  to  your  hame,  ladye, 
For  a'  that's  here  is  yours.' 

*I  thank  thee,  Annie;  I  thank  thee,  Annie, 

Sae  dearly  as  I  thank  thee; 
You're  the  likest  to  my  sister  Annie, 

That  ever  I  did  see. 

'There  came  a  knight  out  oer  the  sea. 

And  steald  my  sister  away; 
And  shame  scoup  in  his  company, 

And  land  where'er  he  gae!' 

She  hang  ae  napkin  at  the  door. 

Another  in  the  ha, 
And  a'  to  wipe  the  trickling  tears, 

Sae  fast  as  they  did  fa. 

And  aye  she  served  the  lang  tables 
With  white  bread  and  with  wine. 

And  aye  she  drank  the  wan  water. 
To  had  her  colour  fine. 

And  aye  she  served  the  lang  tables. 
With  white  bread  and  with  brown; 

And  ay  she  turned  her  round  about, 
Sae  fast  the  tears  fell  down. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  he's  taen  down  the  silken  napkin, 

Hung  on  a  silver  pin, 
And  aye  he  wipes  the  tear  trickling 

Adown  her  cheek  and  chin. 

And  aye  he  turn'd  him  round  about, 

And  smiled  amang  his  men; 
Says,  'Like  ye  best  the  old  ladye. 

Or  her  that's  new  come  hame  ?' 

When  bells  were  rung,  and  mass  was  sung, 

And  a'  men  bound  to  bed, 
Lord  Thomas  and  his  new-come  bride 

To  their  chamber  they  were  gaed. 

Annie  made  her  bed  a  little  forbye, 

To  hear  what  they  might  say; 
'And  ever  alas!'  Fair  Annie  cried, 

'That  I  should  see  this  day! 

'Gin  my  seven  sons  were  seven  young  rats. 

Running  on  the  castle  wa, 
And  I  were  a  grey  cat  mysell, 

I  soon  would  worry  them  a'. 

'Gin  my  young  sons  were  seven  young  hares, 

Running  oer  yon  lilly  lee, 
And  I  were  a  grew  hound  mysell. 

Soon  worried  they  a'  should  be.' 

And  wae  and  sad  Fair  Annie  sat. 
And  drearie  was  her  sang, 
386 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  ever,  as  she  sobbd  and  grat, 

'Wae  to  the  man  that  did  the  wrang!* 

'My  gown  is  on,'  said  the  new-come  bride, 

'My  shoes  are  on  my  feet, 
And  I  will  to  Fair  Annie's  chamber, 

And  see  what  gars  her  greet. 

'What  ails  ye,  what  ails  ye.  Fair  Annie, 

That  ye  make  sic  a  moan  ? 
Has  your  wine-barrels  cast  the  girds, 

Or  is  your  white  bread  gone  ? 

*0  wha  was't  was  your  father,  Annie, 
Or  wha  was't  was  your  mother  ? 

And  had  ye  ony  sister,  Annie, 
Or  had  ye  ony  brother  ?' 

'The  Earl  of  Wemyss  was  my  father, 
The  Countess  of  Wemyss  my  mother; 

And  a'  the  folk  about  the  house 
To  me  were  sister  and  brother.* 

'If  the  Earl  of  Wemyss  was  your  father, 

I  wot  sae  was  he  mine; 
And  it  shall  not  be  for  lack  o'  gowd 

That  ye  your  love  sail  tyne. 

'For  I  have  seven  ships  o'  mine  ain, 
A'  loaded  to  the  brim, 

387 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  I  will  gie  them  a'  to  thee 
Wi'  four  to  thine  eldest  son; 

But  thanks  to  a'  the  powers  in  heaven 
That  I  gae  maiden  hame!' 


182.      Lord   Thomas  and  Fair  Annet 

T    ORD  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet 
-'-^     Sate  a'  day  on  a  hill; 
Whan  night  was  cum,  and  sun  was  sett, 
They  had  not  talkt  their  fill. 

Lord  Thomas  said  a  word  in  jest, 

Fair  Annet  took  it  ill: 
'A',  I  will  nevir  wed  a  wife 

Against  my  ain  friends'  will.' 

'Gif  ye  wull  nevir  wed  a  wife, 

A  wife  wull  neir  wed  yee:* 
Sae  he  is  hame  to  tell  his  mither. 

And  knelt  upon  his  knee. 

'O  rede,  O  rede,  mither,'  he  says, 

'A  gude  rede  gie  to  mee; 
O  sail  I  tak  the  nut-browne  bride, 

And  let  Faire  Annet  bee  ?' 

'The  nut-browne  bride  haes  gowd  and  gear, 
Fair  Annet  she  has  gat  nane; 

And  the  little  beauty  Fair  Annet  haes 
O  it  wull  soon  be  gane.' 
388 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  he  has  till  his  brother  gane; 

'Now,  brother,  rede  ye  mee; 
A',  sail  I  marrie  the  nut-browne  bride, 

And  let  Fair  Annet  bee  ?' 

'The  nut-browne  bride  has  oxen,  brother, 
The  nut-browne  bride  has  kye; 

I  wad  hae  ye  marrie  the  nut-browne  bride, 
And  cast  Fair  Annet  bye.' 

'Her  oxen  may  dye  i'  the  house,  billie. 

And  her  kye  into  the  byre; 
And  I  sail  hae  nothing  to  mysell 

Bot  a  fat  fadge  by  the  fyre.' 

And  he  has  till  his  sister  gane; 

'Now,  sister,  rede  ye  mee; 
O  sail  I  marrie  the  nut-browne  bride, 

And  set  Fair  Annet  free  ?' 

'I'se  rede  ye  tak  Fair  Annet,  Thomas, 
And  let  the  browne  bride  alane; 

Lest  ye  sould  sigh,  and  say,  Alace, 
What  is  this  we  brought  hame!' 

'No,  I  will  tak  my  mither's  counsel, 

And  marrie  me  owt  o'  hand: 
And  I  will  tak  the  nut-browne  bride. 

Fair  Annet  may  leive  the  land.' 

Up  then  rose  Fair  Annet's  father, 
Twa  hours  or  it  wer  day, 

389 


THE  BOOK  OE 

And  he  is  gane  unto  the  bower 
Wherein  Fair  Annet  lay. 

'Rise  up,  rise  up,  Fair  Annet,'  he  says, 

'Put  on  your  silken  sheene; 
Let  us  gae  to  St.  Marie's  Kirke, 

And  see  that  rich  weddeen.' 

'My  maides,  gae  to  my  dressing-roome, 

And  dress  to  me  my  hair; 
Whaireir  yee  laid  a  plait  before. 

See  yee  lay  ten  times  mair. 

'My  maides,  gae  to  my  dressing-roome^ 
And  dress  to  me  my  smock; 

The  one  half  is  o'  the  hoUand  fine, 
The  other  o'  needle-work.' 

The  horse  Fair  Annet  rade  upon. 

He  amblit  like  the  wind; 
Wi'  siller  he  was  shod  before, 

Wi'  burning  gowd  behind. 

Four  and  twanty  siller  bells 

Wer  a'  tyed  till  his  mane, 
And  yae  tift  o'  the  norland  wind. 

They  tinkled  ane  by  ane. 

Four  and  twanty  gay  gude  knichts 
Rade  by  Fair  Annet's  side. 

And  four  and  twanty  fair  ladies, 
As  gin  she  had  bin  a  bride. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  whan  she  cam  to  Marie's  Kirk, 

She  sat  on  Marie's  stean: 
The  cleading  that  Fair  Annet  had  on 

It  skinkled  in  their  een. 

And  whan  she  cam  into  the  kirk, 
She  shimmered  Hke  the  sun; 

The  beh  that  was  about  her  waist 
Was  a'  wi'  pearles  bedone. 

She  sat  her  by  the  nut-browne  bride, 
And  her  een  they  wer  sae  clear, 

Lord  Thomas  he  clean  forgat  the  bride. 
When  Fair  Annet  drew  near. 

He  had  a  rose  into  his  hand. 

He  gae  it  kisses  three. 
And  reaching  by  the  nut-browne  bride. 

Laid  it  on  Fair  Annet's  knee. 

Up  then  spak  the  nut-browne  bride. 

She  spak  wi'  meikle  spite: 
'And  whair  gat  ye  that  rose-water. 

That  does  mak  yee  sae  white  V 

'O  I  did  get  the  rose-water 
Whair  ye  wull  neir  get  nane. 

For  I  did  get  that  very  rose-water 
Into  my  mither's  wame.' 


The  bride  she  drew  a  long  bodkin 
Frae  out  her  gay  head-gear, 


391 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  strake  Fair  Annet  unto  the  heart, 
That  word  spak  nevir  mair. 


Lord  Thomas  he  saw  Fair  Annet  wex  pale, 

And  marveht  what  mote  bee; 
But  whan  he  saw  her  dear  heart's  blude, 

A'  wood-wroth  wexed  hee. 


He  drew  his  dagger  that  was  sae  sharp. 
That  was  sae  sharp  and  meet, 

And  drave  it  into  the  nut-browne  bride, 
That  fell  deid  at  his  feit. 

'Now  stay  for  me,  dear  Annet,'  he  sed, 
'Now  stay,  my  dear,'  he  cry'd; 

Then  strake  the  dagger  until  his  heart, 
And  fell  deid  by  her  side. 

Lord  Thomas  was  buried  without  kirk-wa, 

Fair  Annet  within  the  quiere, 
And  o'  the  ane  thair  grew  a  birk. 

The  other  a  bonny  briere. 

And  ay  they  grew,  and  ay  they  threw, 

As  they  wad  faine  be  neare; 
And  by  this  ye  ma\'  ken  right  weil 

They  were  twa  luvers  deare. 


392 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

i8j.  Bonny  Barbara  Allan 

TT  was  in  and  about  the  Martinmas  time, 
-*-       When  the  green  leaves  were  a  falhng, 
That  Sir  John  Graeme,  in  the  West  Country, 
Fell  in  love  with  Barbara  Allan. 

He  sent  his  man  down  through  the  town, 
To  the  place  where  she  was  dwelling; 

'O  haste  and  come  to  my  master  dear, 
Gin  ye  be  Barbara  Allan.' 

O  hooly,  hooly  rose  she  up, 

To  the  place  where  he  was  lying. 

And  when  she  drew  the  curtain  by, 
'Young  man,  I  think  you're  dying.' 

'O  it's  I  am  sick,  and  very,  very  sick. 

And  'tis  a'  for  Barbara  Allan.' 
'O  the  better  for  me  ye's  never  be, 

Tho'  your  heart's  blood  were  a  spilling.* 

'O  dinna  ye  mind,  young  man,'  said  she, 
'When  ye  was  in  the  tavern  a  drinking. 

That  ye  made  the  healths  gae  round  and  round, 
And  slighted  Barbara  Allan  r' 

He  turn'd  his  face  unto  the  wall, 
And  death  was  with  him  dealing; 

'Adieu,  adieu,  my  dear  friends  all, 
And  be  kind  to  Barbara  Allan.' 

393 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  slowly,  slowly  raise  she  up, 

And  slowly,  slowly  left  him. 
And  sighing,  said,  she  coud  not  stay, 

Since  death  of  life  had  reft  him. 

She  had  not  gane  a  mile  but  twa. 

When  she  heard  the  dead-bell  ringing, 

And  every  jow  that  the  dead-bell  geid, 
It  cry'd,  'Woe  to  Barbara  Allan!' 

*0  mother,  mother,  make  my  bed, 

O  make  it  saft  and  narrow! 
Since  my  love  died  for  me  to-day, 

I'll  die  for  him  to-morrow.' 


i8^.  The  Queen's  Marie 

TV /TARIE  Hamilton's  to  the  kirk  gane, 
1V±     -^'j'  ribbons  in  her  hair; 
The  King  thought  mair  o'  Marie  Hamilton, 
Than  ony  that  were  there. 

Marie  Hamilton's  to  the  kirk  gane, 

Wi'  ribbons  on  her  breast; 
The  King  thought  mair  o'  Marie  Hamilton, 

Than  he  listen'd  to  the  priest. 

Marie  Hamilton's  to  the  kirk  gane, 

Wi'  gloves  upon  her  hands; 
The  King  thought  mair  o'  Marie  Hamilton, 

Than  the  Oueen  and  a'  her  lands. 

394 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

She  hadna  been  about  the  King's  court 

A  month,  but  barely  one, 
Till  she  was  beloved  by  a'  the  King's  court, 

And  the  King  the  only  man. 

She  hadna  been  about  the  King's  court 

A  month,  but  barely  three. 
Till  frae  the  King's  court  Marie  Hamilton, 

Marie  Hamilton  durst  na  be. 

The  King  is  to  the  Abbey  gane. 

To  pu'  the  Abbey  tree. 
To  scale  the  babe  frae  Marie's  heart; 

But  the  thing  it  wadna  be. 

O  she  has  row'd  it  in  her  apron. 

And  set  it  on  the  sea: 
*Gae  sink  ye  or  swim  ye,  bonny  babe, 

Ye's  get  nae  mair  o'  me.' 

Word  is  to  the  kitchen  gane, 

And  word  is  to  the  ha'. 
And  word  is  to  the  noble  room, 

Amang  the  ladves  a', 
That  Marie  Hamilton's  brought  to  bed, 

And  the  bonny  babe's  mist  and  awa*. 

Scarcely  had  she  lain  down  again. 

And  scarcely  faen  asleep, 
When  up  and  started  our  gude  Queen, 

Just  at  her  bed-feet, 

395 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Saying,  'Marie  Hamilton,  where's  your  babe? 
For  I  am  sure  I  heard  it  greet.' 

'O  no,  O  no,  my  noble  Queen! 

Think  no  sic  thing  to  be! 
'Twas  but  a  stitch  into  my  side. 

And  sair  it  troubles  me.' 

'Get  up,  get  up,  Marie  Hamilton, 

Get  up,  and  follow  me. 
For  I  am  going  to  Edinburgh  town, 

A  rich  wedding  for  to  see.' 

O  slowly,  slowly  raise  she  up, 

And  slowly  put  she  on; 
And  slowly  rade  she  out  the  way, 

Wi'  mony  a  weary  groan. 

The  Queen  was  clad  in  scarlet. 

Her  merry  maids  all  in  green; 
And  every  town  that  they  cam  to, 

They  took  Marie  for  the  Queen. 

'Ride  hooly,  hooly,  gentlemen. 

Ride  hooly  now  wi'  me! 
For  never,  I  am  sure,  a  wearier  burd 

Rade  in  your  companie.' 

But  little  wist  Marie  Hamilton, 

When  she  rade  on  the  brown, 
That  she  was  gaen  to  Edinburgh  town, 

And  a'  to  be  put  down. 
396 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Why  weep  ye  so,  ye  burgess  wives, 

Why  look  ye  so  on  me  ? 
O,  I  am  going  to  Edinburgh  town, 

A  rich  wedding  for  to  see!' 

When  she  gaed  up  the  Tolbooth  stairs. 
The  corks  frae  her  heels  did  flee; 

And  lang  or  e'er  she  cam  down  again, 
She  was  condemned  to  die. 

When  she  cam  to  the  Netherbow  Port, 
She  laugh'd  loud  laughters  three; 

But  when  she  cam  to  the  gallows  foot, 
The  tears  blinded  her  e'e. 

'Yestreen  the  Queen  had  four  Maries, 

The  night  she'll  hae  but  three; 
There  was  Marie  Seaton,  and  Marie  Beaton, 

And  Marie  Carmichael,  and  me. 

'O,  often  have  I  dressed  my  Queen, 

And  put  gowd  upon  her  hair; 
But  now  I've  gotten  for  my  reward 

The  gallows  to  be  my  share. 

'Often  have  I  dressed  my  Queen, 

And  often  made  her  bed: 
But  now  I've  gotten  for  my  reward 

The  gallows  tree  to  tread. 

'I  charge  ye  all,  ye  mariners. 
When  ye  sail  ower  the  faem, 

397 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Let  neither  my  father  nor  mother  get  wit, 
But  that  I'm  coming  hame. 

'I  charge  ye  all,  ye  mariners, 

That  sail  upon  the  sea, 
That  neither  my  father  nor  mother  get  wit, 

This  dog's  death  I'm  to  die. 

'For  if  my  father  and  mother  got  wit, 

And  my  bold  brethren  three, 
O  mickle  wad  be  the  gude  red  blude. 

This  day  wad  be  spilt  for  me! 

'O  little  did  my  mother  ken, 

The  day  she  cradled  me, 
The  lands  I  was  to  travel  in, 

Or  the  death  I  was  to  die!' 

Arte 


185.  Lord  Donald 

/^  WHERE  hae  ye  been  a'  day.  Lord  Donald,  my  son  ? 
^-^     O  where  hae  ye  been  a'  day,  my  jollie  young  man  ?' 
'I've  been  awa'  courtin':  mither,  mak  my  bed  sune. 
For  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wad  lie  doun.' 

'What  wad  ye  hae  for  your  supper,  Lord  Donald,  my  son  ? 
What  wad  ye  hae  for  your  supper,  mv  jollie  young  man  ?' 
'I've  gotten  my  supper;  mither,  mak  my  bed  sune. 
For  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wad  lie  doun.' 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'What  did  ye  get  to  your  supper,  Lord  Donald,  my  son  ? 
What  did  ye  get  to  your  supper,  my  jollie  young  man  ?' 
*A  dish  of  sma'  fishes;  mither,  mak  my  bed  sune, 
For  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wad  He  doun.' 

'Whare  gat  ye  the  fishes.  Lord  Donald,  my  son  ? 
Whare  gat  ye  the  fishes,  my  jollie  young  man  ?' 
'In  my  father's  black  ditches;  mither,  mak  my  bed  sune, 
For  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wad  lie  doun.' 

'What  like  were  your  fishes.  Lord  Donald,  my  son  ? 
What  like  were  your  fishes,  my  jollie  young  man  ?' 
'Black  backs  and  speckl'd  bellies;  mither,  mak  my  bed  sune, 
For  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wad  lie  doun.' 

'O  I  fear  ye  are  poison'd.  Lord  Donald,  my  son! 
O  I  fear  ye  are  poison'd,  my  jollie  young  man!' 
'O  yes!  I  am  poison'd;  mither  mak  my  bed  sune, 
For  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wad  lie  doun.' 

'What  will  ye  leave  to  your  father.  Lord  Donald,  my  son  ^ 
What  will  ye  leave  to  your  father,  my  jollie  young  man  .?' 
'Baith  my  houses  and  land;  mither,  mak  my  bed  sune, 
For  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wad  lie  doun.' 

'What  will  ye  leave  to  your  brither,  Lord  Donald,  my  son  ? 
What  will  ye  leave  to  your  brither,  my  jollie  young  man  .?' 
'My  horse  and  the  saddle;  mither,  mak  my  bed  sune, 
For  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wad  lie  doun.' 

'What  will  ye  leave  to  your  sister.  Lord  Donald,  my  son  ? 
What  will  ye  leave  to  your  sister,  my  jollie  young  man  ?' 

399 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'  Baith  my  gold  box  and  rings;  mither,  mak  my  bed  sune, 
For  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wad  he  doun.' 


'What  will  ye  leave  to  your  true-love,  Lord  Donald,  my  son  ? 
What  will  ye  leave  to  your  true-love,  my  jollie  young  man  ?' 
'The  tow  and  the  halter,  for  to  hang  on  yon  tree, 
And  lat  her  hang  there  for  the  poysoning  o'  me.' 

Anon. 


i86.  Edward 

\  ^7HY  does  your  brand  sae  drop  wi'  blude, 
^  *        Edward,  Edward  ? 
Why  does  your  brand  sae  drop  wi'  blude 

And  why  sae  sad  gang  ye,  O  ?' 
'O  I  hae  killed  my  hawk  sae  gude, 

Mither,  mither; 
O  I  hae  killed  my  hawk  sae  gude. 
And  I  hae  nae  mair  but  he,  O.' 


'Your  hawk's  blude  was  never  sae  red, 

Edward,  Edward; 
Your  hawk's  blude  was  never  sae  red. 

My  dear  son,  I  tell  thee,  O.' 
'O  I  hae  killed  mv  red-roan  steed, 

Mither,  mither; 
O  I  hae  killed  my  red-roan  steed. 
That  was  sae  fair  and  free,  O.' 
400 


RESTORAIION  VERSE 

'Your  steed  was  auld,  and  ye  hae  gat  mair, 

Edward,  Edward; 
Your  steed  was  auld,  and  ye  hae  gat  mair; 

Some  ither  dule  ye  dree,  O.' 
'O  I  hae  killed  my  father  dear, 

Mither,  mither; 
O  I  hae  killed  my  father  dear, 
Alas,  and  wae  is  me,  Ol' 

'And  whatten  penance  will  ye  dree  for  that, 

Edward,  Edward  ? 
And  whatten  penance  will  ye  dree  for  that  ? 

My  dear  son,  now  tell  me,  O.' 
'I'll  set  my  feet  in  yonder  boat, 

Mither,  mither; 
I'll  set  my  feet  in  yonder  boat. 
And  I'll  fare  over  the  sea,  O.' 

'And  what  will  ye  do  wi'  your  tow'rs  and  your  ha', 

Edward,  Edward  ? 
And  what  will  ye  do  wi'  your  tow'rs  and  your  ha', 

That  were  sae  fair  to  see,  O  ?' 
'I'll  let  them  stand  till  they  doun  fa', 

Mither,  mither; 
I'll  let  them  stand  till  they  doun  fa'. 
For  here  never  mair  maun  I  be,  O.' 

'And  what  will  ye  leave  to  your  bairns  and  your  wife, 

Edward,  Edward  ? 
And  what  will  ye  leave  to  your  bairns  and  your  wife, 
When  ye  gang  ower  the  sea,  O  ?* 

401 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'The  warld's  room:  let  them  beg  through  life; 

Mither,  mither; 
The  warld's  room:  let  them  beg  through  life; 
For  them  never  mair  will  I  see,  O.' 

'And  what  will  ye  leave  to  your  ain  mither  dear, 

Edward,  Edward  ? 
And  what  will  ye  leave  to  your  ain  mither  dear, 

My  dear  son,  now  tell  me,  O  ?' 
'The  curse  of  hell  frae  me  sail  ye  bear, 

Mither,  mither; 
The  curse  of  hell  frae  me  sail  ye  bear: 
Sic  counsels  ye  gave  to  me,  O!' 

Anon, 


iSy.  Little  Musgrave  and  Lady  Barnard 

A  S  it  fell  one  holy-day, 
-^*-  Hay  downe 

As  many  be  in  the  yeare. 
When  young  men  and  maids  together  did  goe, 

Their  mattins  and  masse  to  heare; 

Little  Musgrave  came  to  the  church-dore: — 
The  preist  was  at  private  masse; — 

But  he  had  more  minde  of  the  faire  women 
Then  he  had  of  our  lady's  grace. 

The  one  of  them  was  clad  in  green, 
Another  was  clad  in  pall, 
402 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  then  came  in  my  lord  Barnard's  wife, 
The  fairest  amonst  them  all. 

She  cast  an  eye  on  Little  Musgrave, 

As  bright  as  the  summer  sun; 
And  then  bethought  this  Little  Musgrave, 

'This  lady's  heart  have  I  woonn.' 

Quoth  she,  'I  have  loved  thee,  Little  Musgrave, 

Full  long  and  many  a  day;' 
'So  have  I  loved  you,  fair  lady, 

Yet  never  word  durst  I  say.' 

*I  have  a  bower  at  Bucklesfordbery, 

Full  daintyly  it  is  deight; 
If  thou  wilt  wend  thither,  thou  Little  Musgrave, 

Thou's  lig  in  mine  amies  all  night.' 

Quoth  he,  '  I  thank  yee,  fair  lady, 
This  kindness  thou  showest  to  me; 

But  whether  it  be  to  my  weal  or  woe. 
This  night  I  will  lig  with  thee.' 

With  that  he  heard,  a  little  tyne  page. 

By  his  ladye's  coach  as  he  ran: 
'All  though  I  am  my  ladye's  foot-page. 

Yet  I  am  Lord  Barnard's  man. 

'My  lord  Barnard  shall  knowe  of  this, 

Whether  I  sink  or  swim;' 
And  ever  where  the  bridges  were  broake 

He  laid  him  downe  to  swimme. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'A  sleepe  or  wake,  thou  Lord  Barnard, 

As  thou  art  a  man  of  hfe, 
For  Little  Musgrave  is  at  Bucklcsfordbery, 

A  bed  with  thy  own  wedded  wife.' 

'If  this  be  true,  thou  littele  tinny  page, 

This  thing  thou  tellest  to  me, 
Then  all  the  land  in  Bucklesfordbery 

I  freely  will  give  to  thee. 

'  But  if  it  be  a  \y,  thou  little  tinny  page. 

This  thing  thou  tellest  to  me, 
On  the  h)'est  tree  in  Bucklesfordbery 

Then  hanged  shalt  thou  be.' 

He  called  up  his  merry  men  all; 

'Come  saddle  me  my  steed; 
This  night  must  I  to  Bucklesfordbery, 

For  I  never  had  greater  need.' 

And  some  of  them  whistld,  and  some  of  them  sung. 

And  some  these  words  did  sav, 
And  ever  when  my  Lord  Barnard's  horn  blew, 

'Away,  Musgrave,  away!' 

'Methinks  I  hear  the  thresel-cock, 

Methinks  I  hear  the  ja}'e; 
Methinks  I  hear  my  Lord  Barnard, 

And  I  would  I  were  away!' 

'Lye  still,  lye  still,  thou  little  Musgrave, 
And  huggell  me  from,  the  cold; 
404 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Tis  nothing  but  a  shepherd's  boy 
A  driving  his  sheep  to  the  fold. 

'Is  not  thy  hawke  upon  a  perch, 

Thy  steed  eats  oats  and  hay, 
And  thou  a  fair  lady  in  thine  armes, 

And  wouldst  thou  bee  away  ?' 

With  that  my  Lord  Barnard  came  to  the  dore. 

And  lit  a  stone  upon; 
He  plucked  out  three  silver  keys 

And  he  open'd  the  dores  each  one. 

He  lifted  up  the  coverlett, 

He  lifted  up  the  sheet: 
'How  now,  how  now,  thou  Littell  Musgrave, 

Doest  thou  find  my  lady  sweet  ?' 

'I  find  her  sweet,'  quoth  Littell  Musgrave, 

'The  more  'tis  to  my  paine; 
I  would  gladly  give  three  hundred  pounds 

That  I  were  on  yonder  plaine.' 

'Arise,  arise,  thou  Littell  Musgrave, 

And  put  thy  clothes  on; 
It  shall  nere  be  said  in  my  country 

I  have  killed  a  naked  man. 

'I  have  two  swords  in  one  scabberd. 

Full  deere  they  cost  my  purse; 
And  thou  shalt  have  the  best  of  them, 

And  I  will  have  the  worse.' 

405 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  first  stroke  that  Little  Musgrave  stroke, 

He  hurt  Lord  Barnard  sore; 
The  next  stroke  that  Lord  Barnard  stroke, 

Little  Muserave  nere  struck  more. 


With  that  bespake  this  faire  lady, 

In  bed  whereas  she  lav: 
'Although  thou'rt  dead,  thou  Little  Musgrave, 

Yet  I  for  thee  will  pray. 

'And  wish  well  to  thy  soule  will  I, 

So  long  as  I  have  life; 
So  will  I  not  for  thee,  Barnard, 

Although  I  am  thy  wedded  wife.* 

He  cut  her  paps  from  off  her  brest; 

Great  pitty  it  was  to  see 
That  some  drops  of  this  ladies  heart's  blood 

Ran  trickling  downe  her  knee. 

'Woe  worth  you,  woe  worth,  my  mery  men  all. 
You  were  nere  borne  for  my  good; 

Why  did  you  not  offer  to  stay  my  hand, 
When  you  see  me  wa.x  so  wood  ? 

'For  I  have  slaine  the  bravest  sir  knight 

That  ever  rode  on  steed; 
So  have  I  done  the  fairest  lady 

That  ever  did  woman's  deed. 
406 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'A  grave,  a  grave,'  Lord  Barnard  cry'd, 

To  put  these  lovers  in; 
But  lay  my  lady  on  the  upper  hand, 

For  she  came  of  better  kin.' 


8.  Thomas  the  Rhymer 

''  I  ^RUE  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank; 

-*-       A  ferlie  he  spied  wi'  his  ee; 
And  there  he  saw  a  ladye  bright, 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  Tree. 

Her  shirt  was  o'  the  grass-green  silk, 
Her  mantle  o'  the  velvet  fyne; 

At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane 
Hang  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine. 

True  Thomas  he  pu'd  afF  his  cap. 
And  louted  low  down  on  his  knee: 

'All  hail,  thou  mighty  Queen  of  Heaven! 
For  thy  peer  on  earth  I  never  did  see.' 

'O  no,  O  no,  Thomas,'  she  said, 
'That  name  does  not  belang  to  me; 

I'm  but  the  Queen  o'  fair  Elfland, 
That  am  hither  come  to  visit  thee. 

'Harp  and  carp,  Thomas,'  she  said; 

'Harp  and  carp  along  wi'  me; 
And  if  ye  dare  to  kiss  my  lips, 

Sure  of  your  bodie  I  will  be!* 


Am 


407 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'  Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  woe, 
That  weird  sail  never  daunten  me;' 

Syne  he  has  kissed  her  rosy  lips, 
All  under  the  Eildon  Tree. 

'Now,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me,'  she  said, 
'True  Thomas,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me, 

And  ye  maun  serve  me  seven  years. 

Thro  weal  or  woe  as  may  chance  to  be.* 

She's  mounted  on  her  milk-white  steed. 
She's  taen  True  Thomas  up  behind. 

And  aye,  whene'er  her  bridle  rang, 
The  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind. 

O  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on — 

The  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind — 

Until  they  reached  a  desart  wide. 
And  living  land  was  left  behind. 

'Light  down,  light  down  now.  True  Thomas, 
And  lean  your  head  upon  my  knee; 

Abide  and  rest  a  little  space. 

And  I  will  shew  vou  ferlies  three. 

'O  see  ye  not  yon  narrow  road. 

So  thick  beset  with  thorns  and  briers? 

That  is  the  path  of  righteousness, 
Tho  after  it  but  few  enquires. 

'And  see  ye  not  that  braid,  braid  road, 
That  lies  across  the  lily  leven  .? 
408 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

That  is  the  path  of  wickedness, 

Tho  some  call  it  the  road  to  heaven. 

'And  see  ye  not  yon  bonny  road, 
That  winds  about  the  fernie  brae  ? 

That  is  the  road  to  fair  Elfland, 

Where  thou  and  I  this  night  maun  gae. 

'  But,  Thomas,  ye  maun  hold  your  tongue, 

Whatever  ye  may  hear  or  see. 
For,  if  you  speak  word  in  Elflyn-land, 

Ye'll  neer  win  back  to  your  ain  countrie.' 

0  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on, 

And  they  waded  rivers  aboon  the  knee. 
And  they  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon 
But  they  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

It  was  mirk,  mirk  night,  there  was  nae  star  light, 
And  they  waded  thro  red  blude  to  the  knee; 

For  a'  the  blude  that's  shed  on  the  earth 
Rins  thro  the  springs  o  that  countrie. 

Syne  they  came  to  a  garden  green. 
And  she  pu'd  an  apple  frae  a  tree: 

'Take  this  for  thy  wages.  True  Thomas, 

It  will  give  thee  the  tongue  that  can  never  lee.' 

'My  tongue  is  my  ain,'  True  Thomas  he  said, 
'A  gudely  gift  ye  wad  gie  to  me! 

1  neither  dought  to  buy  or  sell. 
At  fair  or  tryst  where  I  may  be. 

409 


THE  BOOK  OF 

*I  dought  neither  speak  to  prince  or  peer, 
Nor  ask  of  grace  from  fair  ladye:' 

'Now  hold  thy  peace,  Thomas,'  she  said, 
'For  as  I  say,  so  must  it  be.' 

He  has  gotten  a  coat  of  the  even  cloth, 
And  a  pair  o  shoes  of  the  velvet  green, 

And  till  seven  years  were  gane  and  past 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen. 


i8g.  Tarn  Lin 

r~\   I  forbid  you,  maidens  a', 
^-^     That  wear  gowd  on  your  hair, 
To  come  or  gae  by  Carterhaugh, 
For  young  Tam  Lin  is  there. 

There's  nane  that  gaes  by  Carterhaugh 
But  they  leave  him  a  wad. 

Either  their  rings,  or  green  mantles, 
Or  else  their  maidenhead. 

Janet  has  kilted  her  green  kirtle 

A  little  aboon  her  knee, 
And  she  has  broded  her  yellow  hair 

A  little  aboon  her  bree. 
And  she's  awa'  to  Carterhaugh, 

As  fast  as  she  can  hie. 

When  she  came  to  Carterhaugh 
Tam  Lin  was  at  the  well, 
410 


Am 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  there  she  fand  his  steed  standing, 
But  away  was  himsel. 

She  had  na  pu'd  a  double  rose, 

A  rose  but  only  twa, 
Till  up  then  started  young  Tarn  Lin, 

Says,  'Lady,  thou's  pu'  nae  mae! 

'Why  pu's  thou  the  rose,  Janet, 
And  why  breaks  thou  the  wand  ? 

Or  why  comes  thou  to  Carterhaugh 
Withoutten  my  command  ?' 

'Carterhaugh,  it  is  my  ain, 

My  daddie  gave  it  me; 
I'll  come  and  gang  by  Carterhaugh, 

And  ask  nae  leave  at  thee.' 

Janet  has  kilted  her  green  kirtle 

A  little  aboon  her  knee. 
And  she  has  snooded  her  yellow  hair 

A  little  aboon  her  bree, 
And  she  is  to  her  father's  ha', 

As  fast  as  she  can  hie. 

Four  and  twenty  ladies  fair 

Were  playing  at  the  ba. 
And  out  then  cam  the  fair  Janet, 

Ance  the  flower  amang  them  a'. 


Four  and  twenty  ladies  fair 
Were  playing  at  the  chess, 


411 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  out  then  cam  the  fair  Janet, 
As  green  as  onie  glass. 

Out  then  spak  an  auld  grey  knight, 

Lay  oer  the  castle  wa', 
And  says,  'Alas,  fair  Janet,  for  thee 

But  we'll  be  blamed  a'.' 

'Haud  your  tongue,  ye  auld  fac'd  knight, 

Some  ill  death  may  ye  die! 
Father  my  bairn  on  whom  I  will, 

I'll  father  nane  on  thee.' 

Out  then  spak  her  father  dear. 
And  he  spak  meek  and  mild; 

'And  ever  alas,  sweet  Janet,'  he  says, 
'I  think  thou  gaes  wi'  child.' 

'If  that  I  gae  wi'  child,  father, 
Mysel  maun  bear  the  blame; 

There's  neer  a  laird  about  your  ha' 
Shall  get  the  bairn's  name. 

'  If  my  love  were  an  earthly  knight. 

As  he's  an  elfin  grey, 
I  wae  na  gie  my  ain  true-love 

For  nae  lord  that  ye  hae. 

'The  steed  that  my  true-love  rides  on 

Is  lighter  than  the  wind; 
Wi'  siller  he  is  shod  before, 
Wi'  burning  gowd  behind.* 
412 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Janet  has  kilted  her  green  kirtle 

A  little  aboon  her  knee, 
And  she  has  snooded  her  yellow  hair 

A  little  aboon  her  bree, 
And  she's  awa'  to  Carterhaugh, 

As  fast  as  she  can  hie. 

When  she  cam  to  Carterhaugh, 

Tarn  Lin  was  at  the  well. 
And  there  she  fand  his  steed  standing, 

But  away  was  himsel. 

She  had  na  pu'd  a  double  rose, 

A  rose  but  only  twa, 
Till  up  then  started  young  Tarn  Lin, 

Says,  'Lady,  thou  pu's  nae  mae. 

'Why  pu's  thou  the  rose,  Janet, 

Amang  the  groves  sae  green. 
And  a'  to  kill  the  bonie  babe 

That  we  gat  us  between  ?' 

*0  tell  me,  tell  me,  Tam  Lin,*  she  says, 
'For's  sake  that  died  on  tree. 

If  eer  ye  was  in  holy  chapel, 
Or  Christendom  did  see  ?' 

'Roxbrugh  he  was  my  grandfather, 

Took  me  with  him  to  bide. 
And  ance  it  fell  upon  a  day 

That  wae  did  me  betide. 

413 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'And  ance  it  fell  upon  a  day, 

A  cauld  day  and  a  snell, 
When  we  were  frae  the  hunting  come, 

That  frae  my  horse  I  fell; 
The  Queen  o'  Fairies  she  caught  me. 

In  yon  green  hill  to  dwell. 

'And  pleasant  is  the  fairy  land, 

But,  an  eerie  tale  to  tell. 
Ay  at  the  end  of  seven  years 

We  pay  a  tiend  to  hell; 
I  am  sae  fair  and  fu'  o'  flesh, 

I'm  fear'd  it  be  mysel. 

'But  the  night  is  Halloween,  lady, 

The  morn  is  Hallowday; 
Then  win  me,  win  me,  an  ye  will. 

For  weel  I  wat  ye  may. 

'Just  at  the  mirk  and  midnight  hour 

The  fairy  folk  will  ride. 
And  they  that  wad  their  true-love  win, 
At  Miles  Cross  they  maun  bide.' 

'But  how  shall  I  thee  ken,  Tam  Lin, 
Or  how  my  true-love  know, 

Amang  sae  mony  unco  knights 
The  hke  I  never  saw  .?' 

*0  first  let  pass  the  black,  lady. 
And  syne  let  pass  the  brown, 
414 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  quickly  run  to  the  milk-white  steed, 
Pu'  ye  his  rider  down. 

'For  I'll  ride  on  the  milk-white  steed, 

And  ay  nearest  the  town; 
Because  I  was  an  earthly  knight 

They  gie  me  that  renown. 

'My  right  hand  will  be  glov'd,  lady, 

My  left  hand  will  be  bare, 
Cockt  up  shall  my  bonnet  be, 

And  kaim'd  down  shall  my  hair. 
And  thae's  the  takens  I  gie  thee, 

Nae  doubt  I  will  be  there. 

'They'll  turn  me  in  your  arms,  lady, 

Into  an  esk  and  adder; 
But  hold  me  fast,  and  fear  me  not, 

I  am  your  bairn's  father. 

'They'll  turn  me  to  a  bear  sae  grim. 

And  then  a  lion  bold; 
But  hold  me  last,  and  fear  me  not. 

As  ye  shall  love  your  child. 

'Again  they'll  turn  me  in  your  arms 

To  a  red  hot  gaud  of  airn; 
But  hold  me  fast,  and  fear  me  not, 

I'll  do  to  you  nae  harm. 

'And  last  they'll  turn  me  in  your  arms 
Into  the  burning  gleed; 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Then  throw  me  into  well  water, 
O  throw  me  in  wi'  speed. 

'And  then  I'll  be  your  ain  true-love, 

I'll  turn  a  naked  knight; 
Then  cover  me  wi'  your  green  mantle, 

And  cover  me  out  o'  sight.' 

Gloomy,  gloomy  was  the  night, 

And  eerie  was  the  way, 
As  fair  Jenny  in  her  green  mantle 

To  Miles  Cross  she  did  gae. 

About  the  middle  o'  the  night 

She  heard  the  bridles  ring; 
This  lady  was  as  glad  at  that 

As  any  earthly  thing. 

First  she  let  the  black  pass  by. 

And  syne  she  let  the  brown; 
But  quickly  she  ran  to  the  milk-white  steed. 

And  pu'd  the  rider  down. 

Sae  weel  she  minded  what  he  did  say, 

And  young  Tam  Lin  did  win; 
Syne  cover'd  him  wi'  her  green  mantle, 

As  blythe's  a  bird  in  spring. 

Out  then  spak  the  Queen  o'  Fairies, 

Out  of  a  bush  o'  broom: 
'Them  that  has  gotten  young  Tam  Lin 

Has  gotten  a  stately  groom.' 
416 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Out  then  spak  the  Queen  o'  Fairies, 
And  an  angry  woman  was  she: 

'Shame  betide  her  ill-far'd  face, 
And  an  ill  death  may  she  die, 

For  she's  taen  awa'  the  bonniest  knight 
In  a'  my  companie. 

'But  had  I  ken'd,  Tam  Lin,'  she  says, 
'What  now  this  night  I  see, 

I  wad  hae  taen  out  thy  twa  grey  een, 
And  put  in  twa  een  o'  tree.' 


rgo.  Clerk  Colvill 

CLERK  Colvill  and  his  lusty  dame 
Were  walking  in  the  garden  green; 
The  belt  around  her  stately  waist 
Cost  Clerk  Colvill  of  pounds  fifteen. 

'O  promise  me  now.  Clerk  Colvill, 
Or  it  will  cost  ye  muckle  strife. 

Ride  never  by  the  wells  of  Slane, 
If  ye  wad  live  and  brook  your  life. 

'Now  speak  nae  mair,  my  lusty  dame, 
Now  speak  nae  mair  of  that  to  me; 

Did  I  ne'er  see  a  fair  woman. 
But  I  wad  sin  with  her  body  ?' 

He's  ta'en  leave  o'  his  lady  gay. 

Nought  minding  what  his  lady  said, 


Jn 


on. 


417 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  he's  rode  by  the  wells  of  Slane, 
Where  washing  was  a  bonny  maid. 

'Wash  on,  wash  on,  my  bonny  maid. 
That  wash  sac  clean  your  sark  of  silk;' 

'And  weel  fa'  you,  fair  gentleman, 
Your  body  whiter  than  the  milk.' 

Then  loud,  loud  cry'd  the  Clerk  Colvill, 
'O  my  head  it  pains  me  sair;' 

'Then  take,  then  take,'  the  maiden  said, 
'And  frae  my  sark  you'll  cut  a  gare.' 

Then  she's  gied  him  a  little  bane-knife. 
And  frae  her  sark  he  cut  a  share; 

She's  ty'd  it  round  his  whey-white  face, 
But  ay  his  head  it  aked  mair. 

Then  louder  cry'd  the  Clerk  Colvill, 
*0  sairer,  sairer  akes  my  head;' 

'And  sairer,  sairer  ever  will,' 

The  maiden  crys,  'Till  you  be  dead.' 

Out  then  he  drew  his  shining  blade. 
Thinking  to  stick  her  where  she  stood, 

But  she  was  vanished  to  a  fish, 
And  swam  far  off,  a  fair  mermaid. 

'O  mother,  mother,  braid  my  hair; 

My  lusty  lady,  make  my  bed; 
O  brother,  take  my  sword  and  spear, 

For  I  have  seen  the  false  mermaid.' 

418 


At 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

igi.  The  Wife  of   Usher's  Well 

'T^HERE  lived  a  wife  at  Usher's  Well, 

-'-       And  a  wealthy  wife  was  she; 
She  had  three  stout  and  stalwart  sons, 
And  sent  them  o'er  the  sea. 

They  hadna  been  a  week  from  her, 

A  week  but  barely  ane, 
When  word  came  to  the  carline  wife 

That  her  three  sons  were  gane. 

They  hadna  been  a  week  from  her, 

A  week  but  barely  three, 
Whan  word  came  to  the  carlin  wife 

That  her  sons  she'd  never  see. 

'I  wish  the  wind  may  never  cease, 

Nor  fashes  in  the  flood, 
Till  my  three  sons  come  hame  to  me, 

In  earthly  flesh  and  blood!' 

It  fell  about  the  Martinmass, 
Whan  nights  are  lang  and  mirk, 

The  carlin  wife's  three  sons  came  hame. 
And  their  hats  were  o'  the  birk. 

It  neither  grew  in  syke  nor  ditch. 

Nor  yet  in  ony  sheugh; 
But  at  the  gates  o'  Paradise 

That  birk  grew  fair  eneugh. 


419 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Blow  up  the  fire,  my  maidens! 

Bring  water  from  the  well; 
For  a'  my  house  shall  feast  this  night, 

Since  my  three  sons  are  well.' 

And  she  has  made  to  them  a  bed. 
She's  made  it  large  and  wide; 

And  she's  taen  her  mantle  her  about, 
Sat  down  at  the  bedside. 

Up  then  crew  the  red,  red  cock. 

And  up  and  crew  the  grey; 
The  eldest  to  the  youngest  said, 

"Tis  time  we  were  away.' 

The  cock  he  hadna  craw'd  but  once. 
And  clapp'd  his  wings  at  a', 

Whan  the  youngest  to  the  eldest  said, 
'  Brother,  we  must  awa'. 

'The  cock  doth  craw,  the  day  doth  daw, 
The  channerin  worm  doth  chide; 

Gin  we  be  mist  out  o'  our  place, 
A  sair  pain  we  maun  bide. 

'Fare  ye  weel,  my  mother  dear! 

Fareweel  to  barn  and  byre! 
And  fare  ye  weel,  the  bonny  lass 

That  kindles  my  mother's  fire!' 


420 


RESTORATION  VERSE 
igz.         Fine  Flowers  in  the  Valley 

OHE  sat  down  below  a  thorn, 
*^       Fine  flowers  tn  the  valley; 
And  there  she  has  her  sweet  babe  born, 
And  the  green  leaves  they  grow  rarely. 

'Smile  na  sae  sweet,  my  bonnie  babe, 

Fine  flowers  tn  the  valley. 
And  ye  smile  sae  sweet,  ye'll  smile  me  dead,' 
And  the  green  leaves  they  grow  rarely. 

She's  ta'en  out  her  little  pen-knife, 

Fine  flowers  in  the  valley. 
And  twinn'd  the  sweet  babe  o'  its  life. 
And  the  green  leaves  they  grow  rarely. 

She's  howket  a  grave  by  the  light  o'  the  moon, 

Fine  flowers  tn  the  valley. 
And  there  she's  buried  her  sweet  babe  in, 
And  the  green  leaves  they  grow  rarely. 

As  she  was  going  to  the  church. 

Fine  flowers  in  the  valley. 
She  saw  a  sweet  babe  in  the  porch. 
And  the  green  leaves  they  grow  rarely. 

'O  sweet  babe,  and  thou  were  mine, 

Fine  flowers  tn  the  valley, 
I  wad  dead  thee  in  the  silk  so  fine,* 

And  the  green  leaves  they  grow  rarely. 

421 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'O  mother  dear,  when  I  was  thine, 

Fine  flowers  tn  the  valley, 
Ye  did  na  prove  to  me  sae  kind,' 

z^nJ  the  green  leaves  they  grow  rarely. 


ig^.  The  Daemon  Lover 


Am 


/^^  WHERE  have  you  been,  my  long,  long  love, 
^-^     This  long  seven  years  and  mair  ?' 
'O  I'm  come  back  to  seek  my  former  vows 
Ye  granted  me  before.' 

'O  hold  your  tongue  of  your  former  vows, 
For  they  will  breed  sad  strife; 

0  hold  your  tongue  of  your  former  vows, 
For  I  am  become  a  wife.' 

He  turned  him  right  and  round  about, 

And  the  tear  blinded  his  e'e: 
*I  wad  never  hae  trodden  on  Irish  ground. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  thee. 

'I  might  hae  had  a  king's  daughter, 
Far,  far  beyond  the  sea; 

1  might  have  had  a  king's  daughter, 
Had  it  not  been  for  love  o'  thee.' 

'If  ye  might  have  had  a  king's  daughter, 

Yer  sel  ye  had  to  blame; 
Ye  might  have  taken  the  king's  daughter, 

For  ye  kend  that  I  was  nane. 
422 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'If  I  was  to  leave  my  husband  dear, 

And  my  two  babes  also, 
O  what  have  you  to  take  me  to, 

If  with  you  I  should  go  ?' 

'I  hae  seven  ships  upon  the  sea — 

The  eighth  brought  me  to  land — 
With  four-and-twenty  bold  mariners, 
And  music  on  every  hand.' 

She  has  taken  up  her  two  little  babes, 
Kiss'd  them  baith  cheek  and  chin: 

'O  fair  ye  weel,  my  ain  two  babes. 
For  I'll  never  see  you  again.' 

She  set  her  foot  upon  the  ship, 
No  mariners  could  she  behold; 

But  the  sails  were  o'  the  taffetie. 
And  the  masts  o'  the  beaten  gold. 

She  had  not  sail'd  a  league,  a  league, 

A  league  but  barely  three, 
When  dismal  grew  his  countenance. 

And  drumlie  grew  his  e'e. 

The  masts  that  were  like  the  beaten  gold, 

Bent  not  on  the  heaving  seas; 
The  sails  that  were  o'  the  taffetie 

Fill'd  not  in  the  east  land  breeze. 

They  had  not  sailed  a  league,  a  league, 
A  league  but  barely  three, 

423 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Until  she  espied  his  cloven  foot, 
And  she  wept  right  bitterlie. 

'O  hold  your  tongue  of  your  weeping,'  says  he, 

'Of  your  weeping  now  let  me  be; 
I  will  shew  you  how  the  lilies  grow 

On  the  banks  of  Italy.' 

'O  what  hills  are  yon,  yon  pleasant  hills, 

That  the  sun  shines  sweetly  on  ?' 
*0  yon  are  the  hills  of  heaven,'  he  said, 

'Where  you  will  never  win.' 

*0  whaten  a  mountain  is  yon,'  she  said, 
'All  so  dreary  wi'  frost  and  snow.?' 

'O  yon  is  the  mountain  of  hell,'  he  cried, 
'Where  you  and  I  will  go.' 

And  aye  when  she  turn'd  her  round  about, 

Aye  taller  he  seemed  for  to  be; 
Until  that  the  tops  o'  that  gallant  ship 

Nae  taller  were  than  he. 

The  clouds  grew  dark,  and  the  wind  grew  loud. 

And  the  levin  fiU'd  her  e'e; 
And  waesome  wail'd  the  snaw-white  sprites 

Upon  the  gurlie  sea. 

He  strack  the  tapmast  wi'  his  hand, 

The  foremast  wi'  his  knee; 
And  he  brak  that  gallant  ship  in  twain, 
And  sank  her  in  the  sea. 

Anon 
424 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

ig/f.  The   Three  Ravens 

''T'^HERE  were  three  ravens  sat  on  a  tree, 

-■■       Downe  a  downe,  hay  down,  hay  downe 
There  were  three  ravens  sat  on  a  tree, 

With  a  downe 
There  were  three  ravens  sat  on  a  tree. 
They  were  as  blacke  as  they  might  be. 

With  a  downe  derrie,  derrie,  derrie,  downe,  downe. 

The  one  of  them  said  to  his  mate, 
'Where  shall  we  our  breakefast  take.'" 

'Downe  in  yonder  greene  field, 

There  lies  a  knight  slain  under  his  shield. 

'His  hounds  they  lie  downe  at  his  feete. 
So  well  they  can  their  master  keepe. 

'His  hawks  they  flie  so  eagerly, 
There's  no  fowle  dare  him  come  nie.' 

Downe  there  comes  a  fallow  doe. 
As  great  with  yong  as  she  might  goe. 

She  lift  up  his  bloudv  hed. 

And  kist  his  wounds  that  were  so  red. 

She  got  him  up  upon  her  backe, 
And  carried  him  to  earthen  lake. 

425 


THE  BOOK  OF 

She  buried  him  before  the  prime, 

She  was  dead  herselfe  ere  even-song  time. 

God  send  every  gentleman, 

Such  hawks,  such  hounds,  and  such  a  leman. 

Anon. 


ig^.  The   Twa   Corbies 

AS  I  was  walking  all  alane, 
I  heard  twa  corbies  making  a  mane; 
The  tane  unto  the  t'other  say, 
'Where  sail  we  gang  and  dine  the  day  ?' 

'In  behint  yon  auld  fail  dyke, 

I  wot  there  lies  a  new-slain  knight; 

And  naebody  kens  that  he  lies  there 

But  his  hawk,  his  hound,  and  his  lady  fair. 

'His  hound  is  to  the  hunting  gane, 
His  hawk  to  fetch  the  wild-fowl  hame, 
His  lady's  ta'en  another  mate. 
So  we  may  make  our  dinner  sweet. 

'Ye'll  sit  on  his  white  hause-bane. 
And  I'll  pike  out  his  bonny  blue  een; 
Wi'  ae  lock  o'  his  gowden  hair 
We'll  theek  our  nest  when  it  grows  bare. 
426 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Mony  a  one  for  him  makes  mane, 
But  nana  sail  ken  whae  he  is  gane, 
O'er  his  white  banes,  when  thev  are  bare. 
The  wind  sail  blaw  for  evermair.' 


An 


on. 


ig6.  A  Lyke-Wake  Dirge 

''  I  "HIS  ae  nighte,  this  ae  nighte, 

-*-     Every  ntghte  and  alle, 
Fire  and  sleet  and  candle-lighte, 
AnJ  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

When  thou  from  hence  away  art  paste, 

Every  nighte  and  alle, 
To  Whinny-muir  thou  com'st  at  laste; 
And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

If  ever  thou  gavest  hosen  and  shoon, 

Every  nighte  and  alle, 
Sit  thee  down  and  put  them  on; 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

If  hosen  and  shoon  thou  ne'er  gav'st  nane. 

Every  ntghte  and  alle. 
The  whinnes  sail  prickle  thee  to  the  bare  bane; 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

From  Whinny-muir  when  thou  mayst  passe. 

Every  nighte  and  alle, 
To  Brigg  o'  Dread  thou  comest  at  laste. 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

427 


THE  BOOK  OF 

From  Brigg  o'  Dread  when  thou  mayst  passe, 

Every  nighte  and  alle, 
To  Purgatory  fire  thou  comest  at  last, 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

If  ever  thou  gavest  meat  or  drink, 

Every  nighte  and  alle. 
The  fire  sail  never  make  thee  shrinke; 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

If  meate  or  drinke  thou  never  gavest  nane. 

Every  nighte  and  alle. 
The  fire  will  burn  thee  to  the  bare  bane; 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 

This  ae  nighte,  this  ae  nighte, 

Every  nighte  and  alle. 
Fire,  and  sleet,  and  candle-light. 

And  Christe  receive  thye  saule. 


Am 


igj.         Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray 

r\  BESSIE  BELL  and  Mary  Gray, 
^-^        They  war  twa  Bonnie  lasses! 
They  bigget  a  bower  on  yon  burn-brae. 
And  theekit  it  o'er  wi'  rashes. 

They  theekit  it  o'er  wi'  rashes  green, 
They  theekit  it  o'er  wi'  heather; 

But  the  pest  cam  frae  the  burrows-town, 
And  slew  them  baith  thegither. 
428 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

They  thought  to  lie  in  Methven  kirk-yard 

Amang  their  noble  kin; 
But  they  maun  lye  in  Stronach  haugh, 

To  biek  forenent  the  sin. 

And  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray, 

They  war  twa  bonnie  lasses; 
They  biggit  a  bower  on  yon  burn-brae, 

And  theekit  it  o'er  wi'  rashes. 

A 


non. 


ig8.  Burd  Helen 

T   WISH  I  were  where  Helen  lies, 
-'-      Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries; 
O  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies, 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lea! 

Curst  be  the  heart  that  thought  the  thought, 
And  curst  the  hand  that  fired  the  shot. 
When  in  my  arms  burd  Helen  dropt. 
And  died  to  succour  me! 

O  think  na  ye  my  heart  was  sair, 
When  my  Love  dropt  and  spak  nae  mair! 
There  did  she  swoon  wi'  meikle  care. 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

As  I  went  down  the  water  side, 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide. 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide. 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lea; 

429 


THE  BOOK  OF 

I  lighted  down  my  sword  to  draw, 
I  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma', 
I  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma*, 
For  her  sake  that  died  for  me. 

O  Helen  fair,  beyond  compare! 
I'll  make  a  garland  of  thy  hair. 
Shall  bind  my  heart  for  evermair, 
Until  the  day  I  die. 

O  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies! 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries; 
Out  of  my  bed  she  bids  me  rise. 
Says,  'Haste,  and  come  to  me!' 

0  Helen  fair!  O  Helen  chaste! 
If  I  were  with  thee,  I  were  blest, 
Where  thou  lies  low  and  takes  thy  rest, 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

1  wish  my  grave  were  growing  green, 
A  winding-sheet  drawn  ower  my  een, 
And  I  in  Helen's  arms  lying, 

On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies; 
Night  and  day  on  me  she  cries; 
And  I  am  weary  of  the  skies. 
For  her  sake  that  died  for  me. 


Jnc 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

igg.  Annan  Water 

A  NNAN  Water's  wading  deep, 
■^  *-     And  my  Love  Annie's  wondrous  bonny; 
And  I  am  loath  she  should  wet  her  feet, 
Because  I  love  her  best  of  ony. 

He's  loupen  on  his  Donny  grey, 

He  rode  the  right  gate  and  the  ready; 

For  all  the  storm  he  wadna  stay, 
For  seeking  of  his  bonny  lady. 

And  he  has  ridden  o'er  field  and  fell. 

Through  moor,  and  moss,  and  many  a  mire; 

His  spurs  of  steel  were  sair  to  bide. 
And  from  her  four  feet  flew  the  fire. 

'My  bonny  grey,  now  play  your  part! 

If  ye  be  the  steed  that  wins  my  dearie, 
With  corn  and  hay  ye'll  be  fed  for  aye. 

And  never  spur  shall  make  you  wearie.' 

The  grey  was  a  mare,  and  a  right  gude  mare; 

But  when  she  wan  the  Annan  Water, 
She  could  not  have  ridden  the  ford  that  night 

Had  a  thousand  merks  been  wadded  at  her. 

*0  boatman,  boatman,  put  ofi^  your  boat, 
Put  off  your  boat  for  golden  money!' 

But  for  all  the  gold  in  fair  Scotland, 

He  dared  not  take  him  through  to  Annie. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'O  I  was  sworn  so  late  yestreen, 

Not  by  a  single  oath,  but  mony! 
I'll  cross  the  drumly  stream  to-night, 

Or  never  could  I  face  my  honey.' 

The  side  was  stey,  and  the  bottom  deep, 
From  bank  to  brae  the  water  pouring; 

The  bonny  grey  mare  she  sw^  for  fear, 
For  she  heard  the  water-kelpy  roaring. 

He  spurr'd  her  forth  into  the  flood, 

I  wot  she  swam  both  strong  and  steady; 

But  the  stream  was  broad,  and  her  strength  did  fail 
And  he  never  saw  his  bonny  lady! 

Anon. 


200.  Willie  Drowned  in    Yarrow 

T^OWN  in  yon  garden  sweet  and  gay 
^^-^     Where  bonny  grows  the  lily, 
I  heard  a  fair  maid  sighing  say, 
'My  wish  be  wn'  sweet  Willie! 

'Willie's  rare,  and  Willie's  fair. 
And  Willie's  wondrous  bonny; 

And  Willie  hecht  to  marry  me 
Gin  e'er  he  married  ony. 

'O  gentle  wind,  that  bloweth  south 
From  where  my  Love  repaireth, 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Convey  a  kiss  frae  his  dear  mouth 
And  tell  me  how  he  fareth! 

*0  tell  sweet  Willie  to  come  doun 

And  hear  the  mavis  singing, 
And  see  the  birds  on  ilka  bush 

And  leaves  around  them  hinging. 

'The  lav'rock  there,  wi'  her  white  breast 
And  gentle  throat  sae  narrow; 

There's  sport  eneuch  for  gentlemen 
On  Leader-haughs  and  Yarrow. 

'O  Leader-haughs  are  wide  and  braid- 
And  Yarrow-haughs  are  bonny; 

There  Willie  hecht  to  marry  me 
If  e'er  he  married  ony. 

'But  Willie's  gone,  whom  I  thought  on, 
And  does  not  hear  me  weeping; 

Draws  many  a  tear  frae  true  love's  e'e 
When  other  maids  are  sleeping. 

'Yestreen  I  made  my  bed  fu'  braid 
The  night  I'll  mak'  it  narrow. 

For  a'  the  live-lang  winter  night 
I  lie  twined  o'  my  marrow. 

'O  came  ye  by  yon  water-side  .? 

Pou'd  you  the  rose  or  lily  .'' 
Or  came  you  by  yon  meadow  green. 

Or  saw  you  my  sweet  Willie  t' 

433 


THE  BOOK  OF 

She  sought  him  up,  she  sought  him  down, 
She  sought  him  braid  and  narrow; 

Syne,  in  the  cleaving  of  a  craig, 
She  found  him  drown'd  in  Yarrow! 

Anon. 


201.      There  Was  a  Maid  Came  Out 
of  Kent 

'  I  ''HERE  was  a  maid  came  out  of  Kent, 

-■■       Dainty  love,  dainty  love; 
There  was  a  maid  came  out  of  Kent, 

Dangerous  be: 
There  was  a  maid  came  out  of  Kent, 
Fair,  proper,  small  and  gent, 
As  ever  upon  the  ground  went. 
For  so  it  should  be. 

Anon. 


202.  The  Gay   Goshawk 

^~\  WELL'S  me  o'  my  gay  goss-hawk, 
^-^     That  he  can  speak  and  flee; 
He'll  carry  a  letter  to  my  love, 
Bring  back  another  to  me.' 

*0  how  can  I  your  true-love  ken, 

Or  how  can  I  her  know  ? 
Whan  frae  her  mouth  I  never  heard  couth. 

Nor  wi'  my  eyes  her  saw.' 
434 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

*0  well  sal  ye  my  true-love  ken, 

As  soon  as  you  her  see; 
For,  of  a'  the  flowrs  in  fair  Englan', 

The  fairest  flowr  is  she. 

'At  even  at  my  love's  bov^^r-door 
There  grows  a  bowing  birk, 

And  sit  ye  down  and  sing  thereon 
As  she  gangs  to  the  kirk. 

'And  four-and-twenty  ladies  fair 

Will  wash  and  go  to  kirk, 
But  well  shall  ye  my  true-love  ken. 

For  she  wears  goud  on  her  skirt. 

'An'  four-and-twenty  gay  ladies 

Will  to  the  mass  repair. 
But  well  sal  ye  my  true-love  ken. 

For  she  wears  goud  on  her  hair.' 

O  even  at  that  lady's  bowr  door 
There  grows  a  bowing  birk. 

And  she  sat  down  and  sang  thereon, 
As  she  ged  to  the  kirk. 

'O  eat  and  drink,  my  marys  a'. 

The  wine  flows  you  among, 
Till  I  gang  to  my  shot-window. 

An'  hear  yon  bonny  bird's  song. 

'Sing  on,  sing  on,  my  bonny  bird, 
The  song  ye  sang  the  streen, 


435 


THE  BOOK  OF 

For  I  ken  by  your  sweet  singin', 
You're  frae  my  true-love  sen'.' 

O  first  he  sang  a  merry  song, 

An'. then  he  sang  a  grave; 
An'  then  he  peck'd  his  feathers  grey, 

To  her  the  letter  gave. 

'Ha,  there's  a  letter  frae  your  love, 

He  says  he  sent  you  three; 
He  canno  wait  your  love  langer, 

But  for  your  sake  he'll  die. 

-He  bids  you  write  a  letter  to  him; 

He  says  he's  sent  you  five; 
He  canna  wait  your  love  langer, 

Tho  you're  the  fairest  woman  alive.' 

'Ye  bid  him  bake  his  bridal  bread. 

And  brew  his  bridal  ale, 
An'  I'll  meet  him  in  fair  Scotlan' 

Lang,  lang  or  it  be  stale.' 

She's  doen  her  to  her  father  dear, 
Fa'n  low  down  on  her  knee: 

'A  boon,  a  boon,  my  father  dear, 
I  pray  you,  grant  it  me.' 

'Ask  on,  ask  on,  my  daughter. 

And  granted  it  sal  be; 
Except  ae  squire  in  fair  Scotlan', 

An'  him  you  sail  never  see.' 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'The  only  boon,  my  father  dear, 

That  I  do  crave  of  thee. 
Is,  gin  I  die  in  southin'  lans, 

In  Scotland  to  bury  me. 

*An'  the  firstin'  kirk  that  ye  come  till. 

Ye  gar  the  bells  be  rung, 
An  the  nextin'  kirk  that  ye  come  till. 

Ye  gar  the  mess  be  sung. 

'And  the  thirdin'  kirk  that  ye  come  till. 

You  deal  gold  for  my  sake, 
An'  the  fourthin'  kirk  that  ye  come  till. 

You  tarry  there  till  night.' 

She  is  doen  her  to  her  bigly  bowr, 

As  fast  as  she  coud  fare. 
An'  she  has  tane  a  sleepy  draught. 

That  she  had  mixed  wi'  care. 

She's  laid  her  down  upon  her  bed. 

An'  soon  she's  fa'n  asleep. 
And  soon  o'er  every  tender  limb 

Cauld  death  began  to  creep. 

Whan  night  w^as  flown,  an'  day  was  come, 

Nae  ane  that  did  her  see 
But  thought  she  was  as  surely  dead 

As  ony  lady  coud  be. 

Her  father  an'  her  brothers  dear 
Gard  make  to  her  a  bier; 

437 


THE  BOOK  OF, 

The  tae  half  was  o'  guid  red  gold, 
The  tither  o'  silver  clear. 

Her  mither  an'  her  sisters  fair 

Gard  work  for  her  a  sark; 
The  tae  half  was  o'  cambrick  fine, 

The  tither  o'  needle  wark. 

The  firstin'  kirk  that  they  came  till, 

They  gard  the  bells  be  rung, 
And  the  nextin'  kirk  that  they  came  till. 

They  gard  the  mess  be  sung. 

The  thirdin'  kirk  that  they  came  till. 

They  dealt  gold  for  her  sake, 
An'  the  fourthin'  kirk  that  they  came  till, 

Lo,  there  they  met  her  make! 

'Lay  down,  lay  down  the  bigly  bier, 

Lat  me  the  dead  look  on; 
Wi'  cherry  ckeeks  and  ruby  lips 

She  lay  an'  smiled  on  him. 

'O  ae  sheave  o'  your  bread,  true-love, 

An'  ae  glass  o'  your  wine. 
For  I  hae  fasted  for  your  sake 

These  fully  days  is  nine. 

'Gang  hame,  gang  hame,  my  seven  bold  brothers, 

Gang  hame  and  sound  your  horn; 
An'  ye  may  boast  in  southin'  lans 
Your  sister's  play'd  you  scorn.' 

Anon. 
438 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

20J.  Hind  Horn 

IN  Scotland  there  was  a  babie  born, 
LiU  lal,  etc. 
And  his  name  it  was  called  young  Hind  Horn, 
With  a  fal  lal,  etc. 

He  sent  a  letter  to  our  king 

That  he  was  in  love  with  his  daughter  Jean. 

He's  gi'en  to  her  a  silver  wand, 

With  seven  living  lavrocks  sitting  thereon. 

She's  gi'en  to  him  a  diamond  ring, 
With  seven  bright  diamonds  set  therein. 

'When  this  ring  grows  pale  and  wan, 
You  may  know  by  it  my  love  is  gane.' 

One  day  as  he  looked  his  ring  upon, 
He  saw  the  diamonds  pale  and  wan. 

He  left  the  sea  and  came  to  land. 

And  the  first  that  he  met  was  an  old  beggar  man. 

'What  news,  what  news?'  said  young  Hind  Horn; 
'No  news,  no  news,'  said  the  old  beggar  man. 

'No  news,'  said  the  beggar,  'no  news  at  a'. 
But  there  is  a  wedding  in  the  king's  ha'. 

439 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'But  there  is  a  wedding  in  the  king's  ha', 
That  has  halden  these  forty  days  and  twa.* 

'Will  ye  lend  me  your  begging  coat? 
And  I'll  lend  you  my  scarlet  cloak. 

'Will  you  lend  me  your  begging  rung? 
And  I'll  gi'e  you  my  steed  to  ride  upon. 

'Will  you  lend  me  your  wig  o'  hair, 
To  cover  mine,  because  it  is  fair  ?' 

The  auld  beggar  man  was  bound  for  the  mill, 
But  young  Hind  Horn  for  the  king's  hall. 

The  auld  beggar  man  was  bound  for  to  ride. 
But  young  Hind  Horn  was  bound  for  the  bride. 

When  he  came  to  the  king's  gate, 

He  sought  a  drink  for  Hind  Horn's  sake. 

The  bride  came  down  with  a  glass  of  wine, 
When  he  drank  out  the  glass,  and  dropt  in  the  ring. 

*0  got  ye  this  by  sea  or  land  ? 

Or  got  ye  it  off  a  dead  man's  hand  ?' 

'I  got  not  it  by  sea,  I  got  it  by  land. 

And  I  got  it,  madam,  out  of  your  own   hand.* 

'O  I'll  cast  off  my  gowns  of  brown. 
And  beg  wi'  you  frae  town  to  town. 
440 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'O  I'll  cast  off  my  gowns  of  red, 

And  I'll  beg  wi'  you  to  win  my  bread.' 

'Ye  needna  cast  off  your  gowns  of  brown, 
For  I'll  make  you  lady  o'  many  a  town. 

'Ye  needna  cast  off  your  gowns  of  red, 
It's  only  a  sham,  the  begging  o'  my  bread.' 

The  bridegroom  he  had  wedded  the  bride. 
But  young  Hind  Horn  he  took  her  to  bed. 

Anon. 


20^.  The  Bailiff's  Daughter  of 

Islington 

'T^'^HERE  was  a  youth,  and  a  well-beloved  youth, 

-*■       And  he  was  a  squire's  son: 
He  loved  the  bailiff's  daughter  dear. 
That  lived  in  Islington. 

Yet  she  was  coy,  and  she  would  not  believe 

That  he  did  love  her  so, 
No,  not  at  any  time  would  she 

Any  countenance  to  him  show. 

But  when  his  friends  did  understand 

His  fond  and  foolish  mind. 
They  sent  him  up  to  fair  London, 

An  apprentice  for  to  bind. 

441 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  when  he  had  been  seven  long  years, 

And  never  his  love  could  see, 
'Many  a  tear  have  I  shed  for  her  sake 

When  she  little  thought  of  me.' 

Then  all  the  maids  of  Islington 
Went  forth  to  sport  and  play; 

All  but  the  bayliff's  daughter  dear; 
She  secretly  stole  away. 

She  put  off  her  gown  of  grey, 
And  put  on  her  puggish  attire; 

She's  up  to  fair  London  gone, 
Her  true-love  to  require. 

As  she  went  along  the  road. 
The  weather  being  hot  and  dry, 

There  was  she  aware  of  her  true-love, 
At  length  came  riding  by. 

She  started  up,  with  a  colour  so  red, 
Catching  hold  of  his  bridle-rein; 

'One  penny,  one  penny,  kind  sir,'  she  said, 
'Will  ease  me  of  much  pain.' 

'Before  I  give  you  one  penny,  sweetheart, 
Pray  tell  me  where  you  were  born  ?' 

'At  Islington,  kind  sir,'  said  she, 
'Where  I  have  had  many  a  scorn.' 

'I  prithee,  sweetheart,  then  tell  to  me, 
O,  tell  me  whether  you  know 
442 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  bailiff's  daughter  of  IsHngton  ?' 
'She's  dead,  sir,  long  ago.' 

*If  she  be  dead,  then  take  my  horse, 

My  saddle  and  bridle  also; 
For  I  will  into  some  far  countrey, 

Where  no  man  shall  me  know.' 

'O  stay,  O  stay,  thou  goodly  youth! 

She's  here  alive,  she  is  not  dead; 
Here  she  standeth  by  thy  side, 

And  is  ready  to  be  thy  bride.' 

'O  farewel  grief,  and  welcome  joy. 

Ten  thousand  times  and  more! 
For  now  I  have  found  my  own  true-love, 

Whom  I  thought  I  should  never  see  more/ 

Anon. 

20^.  St.  Stephen   and  Herod 

O  EYNT  Stevene  was  a  clerk  in  Kyng  Herowdes  halle, 
*^    And  servyd  him  of  bred  and  cloth,  as  every  kyng  befalle. 

Stevyn  out  of  kechone  cam,  wvth  boris  hed  on  honde; 
He  saw  a  sterre  was  fayr  and  brygt  over  Bedlem  stonde. 

He  kyst  adoun  the  boris  hed  and  went  in  to  the  halle: 
'I  forsak  the,  Kyng  Herowdes,  and  thi  werkes  alle. 

'I  forsak  the,  Kyng  Herowdes,  and  thi  werkes  alle; 
Ther  is  a  chyld  in  Bedlem  born  is  beter  than  we  alle.* 

443 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'What  eylyt  the,  Stevene  ?  What  is  the  befalle  ? 

Lakkyt  the  eyther  mete  or  drynk  in  Kyng  Herowdes  halle  ?' 

'Lakit  me  neyther  mete  nor  drynk  in  Kyng  Herowdes  halle; 
Ther  is  a  chyld  in  Bedlem  born  beter  than  we  alle.' 

'What  eylyt  the,  Stevyn  ?  Art  thu  wod,   or  thu  gynnyst  to 

brede  ? 
Lakkyt  the  eyther  gold  or  fe,  or  ony  ryche  wede  ?' 

'Lakyt  me  neyther  gold  ne  fe,  ne  non  ryche  wede; 
Ther  is  a  chyld  in  Bedlem  born  sal  helpyn  us  at  our  nede.' 

'That  is  all  so  soth,  Stevyn,  all  so  soth,  iwys, 

As  this  capoun  crowe  sal  that  lyth  here  in  myn  dysh.' 

That  word  was  not  so  sone  seyd,  that  word  in  that  halle, 
The  capoun  crew  Cristus  natus  est!  among  the  lordes  alle. 

'Rysyt  up,  myn  turmentowres,  be  to  and  al  be  on. 

And  ledyt  Stevyn  out  of  this  toun,andstonythymwythston!' 

Tokyn  he  Stevene,  and  stonyd  hym  in  the  way. 
And  therfore  is  his  evyn  Crystes  owyn  day. 


444 


The  Book  of  Restoration  Verse 

Book  Third 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

206.  The  Salutation 

T^HESE  little  limbs, 

-*•       These  eyes  and  hands  which  here  I  find, 
These  rosy  cheeks  wherewith  my  life  begins, 

Where  have  ye  been  ?  behind 
What  curtain  were  ye  from  me  hid  so  long. 
Where  was,  in  what  abyss,  my  speaking  tongue  ? 


When  silent  I 

So  many  thousand,  thousand  years 
Beneath  the  dust  did  in  a  chaos  lie, 

How  could  I  smiles  or  tears. 
Or  lips  or  hands  or  eyes  or  ears  perceive  ? 
Welcome  ye  treasures  which  I  now  receive. 


I  that  so  long 

Was  nothing  from  eternity, 
Did  little  think  such  joys  as  ear  or  tongue 

To  celebrate  or  see: 
Such  sounds  to  hear,  such  hands  to  feel,  such  feet. 
Beneath  the  skies  on  such  a  ground  to  meet. 


New  burnisht  joys! 
Which  yellow  gold  and  pearl  excel! 
Such  sacred  treasures  are  the  limbs  in  boys, 

In  which  a  soul  doth  dwell; 
Their  organised  joints  and  azure  veins 
More  wealth  include  than  all  the  world  contains. 

447 


THE  BOOK  OF 

From  dust  I  rise, 

And  out  of  nothing  now  awake, 
These  brither  regions  which  salute  mine  eyes, 

A  gift  from  God  I  take. 
The  earth,  the  seas,  the  Hght,  the  day,  the  skies, 
The  sun  and  stars  are  mine:  if  those  I  prize. 

Long  time  before 

I  in  my  mother's  womb  was  born, 
A  God  preparing  did  this  glorious  store, 

The  world  for  me  adorne. 
Into  this  Eden  so  divine  and  fair. 
So  wide  and  bright,  I  come  His  son  and  heir. 

A  stranger  here 
Strange  things  doth  meet,  strange  glories  see; 
Strange  treasures  lodged  in  this  fair  world  appear. 

Strange  all  and  new  to  me; 
But  that  they  mine  should  be,  who  nothing  was. 
That  strangest  is  of  all,  yet  brought  to  pass. 

T .  Traherne 


20"/.     A  Song  to  a  Fair  Young  Lady, 
Going  out  of  the   Town  in  the  Spring 

A  SK  not  the  cause  why  sullen  Spring 
"^^*-     So  long  delays  her  flowers  to  bear; 
Why  warbling  birds  forget  to  sing. 

And  winter  storms  invert  the  year: 
Chloris  is  gone,  and  Fate  provides 
To  make  it  Spring  where  she  resides. 
448 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Chloris  is  gone,  the  cruel  fair; 

She  cast  not  back  a  pitying  eye, 
But  left  her  lover  in  despair, 

To  sigh,  to  languish,  and  to  die. 
Ah,  how  can  those  fair  eyes  endure 
To  give  the  wounds  they  will  not  cure  ? 

Great  god  of  love,  why  hast  thou  made 
A  face  that  can  all  hearts  command, 

That  all  religions  can  invade. 

And  change  the  laws  of  every  land  ? 

Where  thou  hadst  placed  such  power  before. 

Thou  shouldst  have  made  her  mercy  more. 

When  Chloris  to  the  temple  comes, 
Adoring  crowds  before  her  fall; 

She  can  restore  the  dead  from  tombs, 
And  every  life  but  mine  recall. 

I  only  am  by  love  design'd 

To  be  the  victim  for  mankind. 


/.  Dryden 


208.  Come,  Sweet  Lass 

/'~*OME,  sweet  lass 

^^  This  bonny  weather 

Let's  together; 

Come,  sweet  lass 

Let's  trip  upon  the  grass 

Ev'ry  where 

Poor  Jockey  seeks  his  dear, 


449 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  unless  you  appear, 

He  sees  no  beauty  here. 

On  our  green 

The  loons  are  sporting, 

Piping,  courting: 

On  our  green 

The  blithest  lads  are  seen: 

There,  all  day, 

Our  lasses  dance  and  play, 

And  ev'ry  one  is  gay 

But  I,  when  you're  away. 


r.  D'Urfey 


20g.  To  My  Excellent  Lucasia,   on  Our 
Friendship 

T  DID  not  live  until  this  time 
-^     Crowned  my  felicity, 
When  I  could  say  without  a  crime, 
I  am  not  thine,  but  Thee. 

This  carcase  breathed,  and  walk'd,  and  slept. 

So  that  the  world  believed 
There  was  a  soul  the  motions  kept; 

But  they  were  all  deceived. 

For  as  a  watch  by  art  is  wound 

To  motion,  such  was  mine: 
But  never  had  Orinda  found 

A  soul  till  she  found  thine; 


RESTORAIION  VERSE 

Which  now  inspires,  cures,  and  supplies, 

And  guides  my  darkened  breast: 
For  thou  art  all  that  I  can  prize, 

My  Joy,  my  Life,  my  Rest. 

No  bridegroom's  nor  crown-conqueror's  mirth 

To  mine  compared  can  be: 
They  have  but  pieces  of  this  Earth, 

I've  all  the  World  in  thee. 

Then  let  our  flames  still  light  and  shine, 

And  no  false  fear  control, 
As  innocent  as  our  design. 

Immortal  as  our  soul. 

K.   (Orinda)  Philips 


210.         To  Mrs.  M.  A.  at  Parting 

T    HAVE  examined  and  do  find, 

-■-      Of  all  that  favour  me, 

There's  none  I  grieve  to  leave  behind 

But  only,  only  thee. 
To  part  with  thee  I  needs  must  die, 
Could  parting  separate  thee  and  I. 

But  neither  chance  nor  compliment 

Did  element  our  love: 
'Twas  sacred  sympathy  was  lent 

Us  from  the  quire  above. 
(That  friendship  fortune  did  create, 
Still  fears  a  wound  from  time  or  fate.) 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Our  changed  and  mingled  souls  are  grown 

To  such  acquaintance  now, 
That  if  each  would  resume  their  own, 

Alas!  we  know  not  how. 
We  have  each  other  so  engrost, 
That  each  is  in  the  union  lost. 

And  thus  we  can  no  absence  know, 

Nor  shall  we  be  confined; 
Our  active  souls  will  daily  go 

To  learn  each  other's  mind. 
Nay,  should  we  never  meet  to  sense, 
Our  souls  would  hold  intelligence. 

Inspired  with  a  flame  divine 

I  scorn  to  court  a  stay; 
For  from  that  noble  soul  of  thine 

I  ne'er  can  be  away. 
But  I  shall  weep  when  thou  dost  grieve; 
Nor  can  I  die  whilst  thou  dost  live. 

By  my  own  temper  I  shall  guess 

At  thy  felicity, 
And  only  like  my  happiness 

Because  it  pleaseth  thee. 
Our  hearts  at  any  time  will  tell 
If  thou,  or  I,  be  sick,  or  well. 

All  honour,  sure,  I  must  pretend, 

All  that  is  good  or  great; 
She  that  would  be  Rosania's  friend 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Must  be  at  least  complete: 
If  I  have  any  bravery, 
'Tis  cause  I  have  so  much  of  thee. 

Thy  lieger  soul  in  me  shall  lie, 

And  all  thy  thoughts  reveal; 
Then  back  again  with  mine  shall  fly, 

And  thence  to  me  shall  steal. 
Thus  still  to  one  another  tend: 
Such  is  the  sacred  name  of  friend. 

Thus  our  twin-souls  in  one  shall  grow, 

And  teach  the  world  new  love, 
Redeem  the  age  and  sex,  and  show 

A  flame  fate  dares  not  move: 
And  courting  death  to  be  our  friend, 
Our  lives,  together  too,  shall  end. 

A  dew  shall  dwell  upon  our  tomb 

Of  such  a  quality 
That  fighting  armies,  thither  come, 

Shall  reconciled  be. 
We'll  ask  no  epitaph,  but  say: 
Orinda  and  Rosania. 

K.  (Orinda  )Philips 


211.  The  Enquiry 

TF  we  no  old  historian's  name 
■^        Authentic  will  adm.it, 
But  think  all  said  of  Friendship's  fame 

453 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  Poetry  or  Wit: 
Yet  what's  revered  by  minds  so  pure, 
Must  be  a  bright  Idea  sure. 

But  as  our  immortality 

By  inward  sense  we  find, 
Judging  that  if  it  could  not  be. 

It  would  not  be  design'd: 
So  here  how  could  such  copies  fall, 
If  there  were  no  original  ? 

But  if  truth  be  in  ancient  song, 

Or  story  we  believe, 
If  the  inspired  and  graver  throng 

Have  scorned  to  deceive; 
There  have  been  hearts  whose  friendship  gave 
Them  thoughts  at  once  both  soft  and  brave. 

Among  that  consecrated  few, 

Some  more  seraphic  shade 
Lend  me  a  favourable  clew 

Now  mists  my  eyes  invade. 
Why,  having  filjed  the  world  with  fame, 
Left  you  so  little  of  your  flame  ? 

Why  is't  so  difficult  to  see 

Two  bodies  and  one  mind  ? 
And  why  are  those  who  else  agree 

So  differently  kind  ? 
Hath  Nature  such  fantastic  art, 
That  she  can  vary  every  heart; 
454 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Why  are  the  bands  of  Friendship  tied 

With  so  remiss  a  knot, 
That  by  the  most  it  is  defied, 

And  by  the  rest  forgot  ? 
Why  do  we  step  with  so  Hght  sense 
From  Friendship  to  Indifference  ? 

If  Friendship  sympathy  impart, 

Why  this  ill-shuffled  game, 
That  heart  can  never  meet  with  heart, 

Or  flame  encounter  flame  ? 
What  does  this  cruelty  create  ? 
Is't  the  intrigue  of  Love  or  Fate  ? 

Had  Friendship  ne'er  been  known  to  men, 

(The  Ghost  at  last  confest) 
The  World  had  been  a  stranger  then 

To  all  that  Heaven  possest. 
But  could  it  all  be  here  acquired. 
Not  Heaven  itself  would  be  desired. 

K.  (Orinda)  Philips 


212.  On  An  Hour-Glass 

1\  /FY  life  is  measur'd  by  this  glass,  this  glass 
^^ *-      By  all  those  little  sands  that  thorough  pass. 
See  how  they  press,  see  how  they  strive,  which  shall 
With  greatest  speed  and  greatest  quickness  fall. 
See  how  they  raise  a  little  mount,  and  then 
With  their  own  weight  do  level  it  again. 

455 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  when  th'  have  all  got  thorough,  they  give  o'er 
Their  nimble  sliding  down,  and  move  no  more. 
Just  such  is  man,  whose  hours  still  forward  run, 
Being  almost  finish'd  ere  they  are  begun; 
So  perfect  nothings,  such  light  blasts  are  we, 
That  ere  we're  aught  at  all,  we  cease  to  be. 
Do  what  we  will,  our  hasty  minutes  fly. 
And  while  we  sleep,  what  do  we  else  but  die  ? 
How  transient  are  our  joys,  how  short  their  day! 
They  creep  on  towards  us,  but  fly  away. 
How  stinging  are  our  sorrows!  where  they  gain 
But  the  least  footing,  there  they  will  remain. 
How  groundless  are  our  hopes,  how  they  deceive 
Our  childish  thoughts,  and  only  sorrow  leave! 
How  real  are  our  fears!  they  blast  us  still, 
Still  rend  us,  still  with  gnawing  passions  fill; 
How  senseless  are  our  wishes,  yet  how  great! 
With  what  toil  we  pursue  them,  with  what  sweat! 
Yet  most  times  for  our  hurts,  so  small  we  see. 
Like  children  crying  for  some  Mercury. 
This  gapes  for  marriage,  yet  his  fickle  head 
Knows  not  what  cares  wait  on  a  marriage  bed: 
This  vows  virginity,  yet  knows  not  what 
Loneness,  grief,  discontent,  attends  that  state. 
Desires  of  wealth  another's  wishes  hold. 
And  yet  how  many  have  been  chok'd  with  gold  ? 
This  only  hunts  for  honour,  yet  who  shall 
Ascend  the  higher,  shall  more  wretched  fall. 
This  thirsts  for  knowledge,  yet  how  is  it  bought  ? 
With  many  a  sleepless  night,  and  racking  thought. 
This  needs  will  travel,  yet  how  dangers  lay 
Most  secret  ambuscados  in  the  way  ? 
45^ 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

These  triumph  in  their  beauty,  though  it  shall 
Like  a  pluck'd  rose  or  fading  lily  fall. 
Another  boasts  strong  arms:  'las!  giants  have 
By  silly  dwarfs  been  dragg'd  unto  their  grave. 
These  ruffle  in  rich  silk:  though  ne'er  so  gay, 
A  vv'ell-plum'd  peacock  is  more  gay  than  they. 
Poor  man!  what  art  (  A  tennis-ball  of  error, 
A  ship  of  glass  toss'd  in  a  sea  of  terror; 
Issuing  in  blood  and  sorrow  from  the  womb, 
Crawling  in  tears  and  mourning  to  the  tomb: 
How  slippery  are  thy  paths!  How  sure  thy  fall! 
How  art  thou  nothing,  when  th'  art  most  all! 


J.  Hall 


21^.  Dumbness 

O  URE  Man  was  born  to  meditate  on  things. 
*~-^  And  to  contemplate  the  eternal  springs 
Of  God  and  Nature,  glory,  bliss,  and  pleasure; 
That  life  and  love  might  be  his  Heavenly  treasure; 
And  therefore  speechless  made  at  first,  that  He 
Might  in  himself  profoundly  busied  be: 
And  not  vent  out,  before  he  hath  ta'en  in 
Those  antidotes  that  guard  his  soul  from  sin. 

Wise  Nature  made  him  deaf,  too,  that  He  might 
Not  be  disturbed,  while  he  doth  take  delight 
In  inward  things,  nor  be  deprav'd  with  tongues. 
Nor  injured  by  the  errors  and  the  wrongs 
That  mortal  words  convey.  For  sin  and  death 
Are  most  infused  by  accursed  brc:ith, 

457 


THE  BOOK  OF 

That  flowing  from  corrupted  entrails,  bear 
Those  hidden  plagues  which  souls  may  justly  fear. 

This,  my  dear  friends,  this  was  my  blessed  case; 
For  nothing  spoke  to  me  but  the  fair  face 
Of  Heaven  and  Earth,  before  myself  could  speak, 
I  then  my  Bliss  did,  when  my  silence,  break. 
My  non-intelligence  of  human  words 
Ten  thousand  pleasures  unto  me  affords; 
For  while  I  knew  not  what  they  to  me  said, 
Before  their  souls  were  into  mine  convey'd. 
Before  that  living  vehicle  of  wind 
Could  breathe  into  me  their  infected  mind. 
Before  my  thoughts  were  leaven'd  with  theirs,  before 
There  any  mixture  was;  the  Holy  Door, 
Or  gate  of  souls  was  close,  and  mine  being  one 
Within  itself  to  me  alone  was  known. 
Then  did  I  dwell  within  a  world  of  light. 
Distinct  and  separate  from  all  men's  sight, 
Where  I  did  feel  strange  thoughts,  and  such  things  see 
That  were,  or  seem'd,  only  reveal'd  to  me. 
There  I  saw  all  the  world  enjoyed  by  one; 
There  I  was  in  the  world  myself  alone; 
No  business  serious  seemed  but  one;  no  work 
But  one  was  found;  and  that  in  me  did  lurk. 

D'ye  ask  me  what  ?  It  was  with  clearer  eyes 
To  see  all  creatures  full  of  Deities; 
Especially  one's  self:  And  to  admire 
The  satisfaction  of  all  true  desire: 
*Twas  to  be  pleased  with  all  that  God  hath  done; 
'Twas  to  enjoy  even  all  beneath  the  sun: 
*Twas  with  a  steady  and  immediate  sense 
To  feel  and  measure  all  the  excellence 


RESTORAllON  VERSE 

Of  things;  'twas  to  inherit  endless  treasure, 

And  to  be  filled  with  everlasting  pleasure: 

To  reign  in  silence,  and  to  sing  alone, 

To  see,  love,  covet,  have,  enjoy  and  praise,  in  one: 

To  prize  and  to  be  ravish'd;  to  be  true, 

Sincere  and  single  in  a  blessed  view 

Of  all  His  gifts.  Thus  was  I  pent  within 

A  fort,  impregnable  to  any  sin: 

Until  the  avenues  being  open  laid 

Whole  legions  entered,  and  the  forts  betrayed: 

Before  which  time  a  pulpit  in  my  mind, 

A  temple  and  a  teacher  I  did  find, 

With  a  large  text  to  comment  on.  No  ear 

But  eyes  themselves  were  all  the  hearers  there, 

And  every  stone,  and  every  star  a  tongue, 

And  every  gale  of  wind  a  curious  song. 

The  Heavens  were  an  oracle,  and  spake 

Divinity:  the  Earth  did  undertake 

The  office  of  a  priest;  and  I  being  dumb 

(Nothing  besides  was  dumb),  all  things  did  come 

With  voices  and  instructions;  but  when  I 

Had  gained  a  tongue,  their  power  began  to  die. 

Mine  ears  let  other  noises  in,  not  theirs, 

A  noise  disturbing  all  my  songs  and  prayers. 

My  foes  pulled  down  the  temple  to  the  ground; 

They  my  adoring  soul  did  deeply  wound 

And  casting  that  into  a  swoon,  destroyed 

The  Oracle,  and  all  I  there  enjoyed: 

And  having  once  inspired  me  with  a  sense 

Of  foreign  vanities,  they  march  out  thence 

In  troops  that  cover  and  despoil  my  coasts, 

Being  the  invisible,  most  hurtful  hosts. 

459 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Yet  the  first  words  mine  infancy  did  hear 
The  things  vvhich  in  my  dumbness  did  appear, 
Preventing  all  the  rest,  got  such  a  root 
Within  my  heart,  and  stick  so  close  unto  't, 
It  may  be  trampled  on,  but  still  will  grow 
And  nutriment  to  soil  itself  will  owe. 
The  first  Impressions  are  Immortal  all. 
And  let  mine  enemies  hoop,  cry,  roar,  or  call, 
Yet  these  will  whisper  if  I  will  but  hear, 
And  penetrate  the  heart,  if  not  the  ear. 


T.  Traherne 


214.  Himting-Song 

Diana 
'\\TTTli  horns  and  hounds,  I  waken  the  day, 

•  *        And  hie  to  the  woodland  walks  away; 
I  tuck  up  my  robe,  and  am  buskined  soon. 
And  tie  to  my  forehead  a  wexing  moon. 
I  course  the  fleet  stag,  and  unkennel  the  fox. 
And  chase  the  wild  goats  o'er  the  summits  of  rocks; 
With  shouting  and  hooting  we  pierce  through  the  sky 
And  Echo  turns  hunter  and  doubles  the  cry. 

Chorus 
With  shouting  and  hooting  we  pierce  through  the  sky 
And  Echo  turns  hunter  and  doubles  the  cry. 

/.  Dryden 
460 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

2/5.  Harvest  Home 

Comus 
"VrOUR  hay  it  is  mowed,  and  your  corn  is  reaped: 
-*-       Your  barns  will  be  full,  and  your  hovels  heaped: 
Come,  m)'  boys,  come; 
Come,  my  boys,  come; 
And  merrily  roar  out  harvest  home! 
Harvest  home. 
Harvest  home; 
And  merrily  roar  out  harvest  home! 
Chorus.     Come,  my  boys,  come,  etc. 

We  ha'  cheated  the  parson,  we'll  cheat  him  again, 
For  why  should  a  blockhead  ha'  one  in  ten  ? 
One  in  ten. 
One  in  ten; 
For  why  should  a  blockhead  ha'  one  in  ten  ? 
Chor.     One  in  ten,  etc. 

For  prating  so  long  like  a  book-learned  sot, 
Till  pudding  and  dumpling  burn  to  pot, 

Burn  to  pot, 

Burn  to  pot, 
Till  pudding  and  dumpling  burn  to  pot  ? 
Chor.     Burn  to  pot,  etc. 

We'll  toSs  ofF  our  ale  till  we  canno'  stand, 
And  hoigh  for  the  honour  of  Old  England; 

Old  England, 

Old  England; 

461 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  hoigh  for  the  honour  of  Old  England. 
Chor.     Old  England,  etc. 


2 1 6.  Incantation 


J.  Dryden 


YOU  twice  ten  hundred  deities, 
To  whom  we  daily  sacrifice; 
You  powers  that  dwell  with  fate  below, 
And  see  what  men  are  doomed  to  do. 
Where  elements  in  discord  dwell; 
Thou  god  of  sleep,  arise  and  tell 
Great  Zempoalla  what  strange  fate 
Must  on  her  dismal  vision  wait! 
By  the  croaking  of  the  toad, 
In  their  caves  that  make  abode; 
Earthly,  dun,  that  pants  for  breath, 
With  her  swelled  sides  full  of  death; 
By  the  crested  adders'  pride, 
That  along  the  clifts  do  glide; 
By  thy  visage  fierce  and  black; 
By  the  death's  head  on  thy  back; 
By  the  twisted  serpents  placed 
For  a  girdle  round  thy  waist; 
By  the  hearts  of  gold  that  deck 
Thy  breast,  thy  shoulders,  and  thy  neck: 
From  thy  sleepy  mansion  rise. 
And  open  thy  unwilling  eyes. 
While  bubbling  springs  their  music  keep. 
That  use  to  lull  thee  in  thy  sleep. 

] .  Dryden 
462 


RESTORAIION  VERSE 

2/7.  Incantation 

Ttrcsias 

CHOOSE  the  darkest  part  o'  the  grove; 
Such  as  ghosts  at  noonday  love. 
Dig  a  trench,  and  dig  it  nigh 
Where  the  bones  of  Laius  he: 
Altars  raised  of  turf  or  stone 
Will  the  infernal  powers  have  none. — 
Answer  me,  if  this  be  done. 
Chorus.     'Tis  done. 

Tir.    Is  the  sacrifice  made  fit  ? 
Draw  her  backward  to  the  pit; 
Draw  the  barren  heifer  back: 
Barren  let  her  be,  and  black. 
Cut  the  curled  hair  that  grows 
Full  betwixt  her  horns  and  brows. 
And  turn  your  faces  from  the  sun. — 
Answer  me,  if  this  be  done. 
Chor.     'Tis  done. 

Tir.     Pour  in  blood,  and  blood-like  wine, 
To  mother  Earth  and  Proserpine; 
Mingle  milk  into  the  stream; 
Feast  the  ghosts  that  love  the  steam: 
Snatch  a  brand  from  funeral  pile; 
Toss  it  in  to  make  them  boil: 
And  turn  your  face  from  the  sun. — 
Answer  me,  if  all  be  done. 
Chor.     All  is  done. 

/.  Dryden 
463 


THE  BOOK  OF 
218.  Song 

T  T  EAR,  ye  sullen  powers  below! 
■*-  -^  Hear,  ye  taskers  of  the  dead! 
You  that  boiling  cauldrons  blow' 

You  that  scum  the  molten  lead! 
You  that  pinch  with  red-hot  tongs! 
You  that  drive  the  trembling  hosts 
Of  poor  ghosts 
With  your  sharpened  prongs! 
You  that  thrust  them  off  the  brim! 
You  that  plunge  them  when  they  swim 
Till  they  drown; 

Till  they  go 

On  a  row 
Down,  down,  down. 
Ten  thousand,  thousand,  thousand  fathoms  low- 
Chorus.     Till  they  drown,  etc. 

Music  for  a  while 

Shall  your  cares  beguile: 

Wondering  how  your  pains  were  eased! 

And  disdaining  to  be  pleased! 
Till  Alecto  free  the  dead 

From  their  eternal  bands; 
Till  the  snakes  drop  from  her  head, 

And  whip  from  out  her  hands. 
Come  away. 
Do  not  stay, 
But  obey, 
While  we  play, 

For  hell's  broke  up,  and  ghosts  have  holiday. 
464 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Chor.     Come  away,  etc. 

Laius!  Laius!  Laius! 

Hear!  Hear!  Hear! 
Tiresias.     Hear  and  appear! 

By  the  Fates  that  spun  thy  thread! 
Chor.     Which  are  three — 
Ttr.     By  the  judges  of  the  dead! 
Chor.     Which  are  three — 
Three  times  three — 

Tir.     By  hell's  blue  flame! 

By  the  Stygian  lake! 
And  by  Demogorgon's  name 

At  which  ghost's  quake! 
Hear  and  appear! 


J.  Dryden 


2ig.  Thamesis'  Song 

t~\LY)  father  Ocean  calls  my  tide; 

^—^     Come  away,  come  away; 

The  barks  upon  the  billows  ride, 

The  master  will  not  stay; 

The  merry  boatswain  from  his  side 

His  whistle  takes,  to  check  and  chide 

The  lingering  lads'  delay. 

And  all  the  crew  aloud  has  cried. 

Come  away,  come  away. 

See,  the  god  of  seas  attends  thee. 
Nymphs  divine,  a  beauteous  train; 
All  the  calmer  gales  befriend  thee, 


465 


THE  BOOK  OF 

In  thy  passage  o'er  the  main; 
Every  maid  her  locks  is  binding, 
Every  Triton's  horn  is  winding; 
Welcome  to  the  wat'ry  plain! 


/.  Dryden 


220.       A  Song  for  St.   Cecilia's  Day 

TI^ROM  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 
-*-  This  universal  frame  began: 

When  nature  underneath  a  heap 

Of  jarring  atoms  lay. 
And  could  not  heave  her  head, 
The  tuneful  voice  was  heard  from  high, 

'Arise,  ye  more  than  dead!' 
Then  cold,  and  hot,  and  moist,  and  dry, 
In  order  to  their  stations  leap. 
And  Music's  power  obey. 
From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 
This  universal  frame  began: 
From  harmony  to  harmony 
Through  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran. 
The  diapason  closing  full  in  Man. 

What  passion  cannot  Music  raise  and  quell  ? 
When  Jubal  struck  the  chorded  shell, 
His  listening  brethren  stood  around. 

And,  wondering,  on  their  faces  fell 
To  worship  that  celestial  sound: 
466 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Less  than  a  God  they  thought  there  could  not  dwell 
Within  the  hollow  of  that  shell 
That  spoke  so  sweetly  and  so  well. 

What  passion  cannot  Music  raise  and  quell  ? 

The  trumpet's  loud  clangour 

Excites  us  to  arms, 
With  shrill  notes  of  anger, 
And  mortal  alarms. 
The  double,  double,  double  beat 
Of  the  thundering  drum 
Cries  Hark!  the  foes  come; 
Charge,  charge,  'tis  too  late  to  retreat! 

The  soft  complaining  flute, 

In  dying  notes,  discovers 

The  woes  of  hopeless  lovers. 
Whose  dirge  is  whispered  by  the  warbling  lute. 

Sharp  viclins  proclaim 
Their  jealous  pangs  and  desperation, 
Fury,  frantic  indignation. 
Depth  of  pains,  and  height  of  passion, 

For  the  fair,  disdainful  dame. 


But  O,  what  art  can  teach. 
What  human  voice  can  reach. 
The  sacred  organ's  praise  .'' 
Notes  inspiring  holy  love. 
Notes  that  wing  their  heavenly  ways 
To  mend  the  choirs  above. 

467 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Orpheus  could  lead  the  savage  race; 
And  trees  uprooted  left  their  place, 
Sequacious  of  the  Ivre; 
But  bright  Cecilia  raised  the  wonder  higher: 
When  to  her  organ  vocal  breath  v^^as  given, 
An  angel  heard,  and  straight  appear'd 
Mistaking  earth  for  heaven. 

Grand  Chorus 
As  from  the  power  of  sacred  lays 

The  spheres  began  to  move, 
And  sung  the  great  Creator's  praise 

To  all  the  Blest  above; 
So  when  the  last  and  dreadful  hour 
This  crumbling  pageant  shall  devour, 
The  trumpet  shall  be  heard  on  high, 
The  dead  shall  live,  the  living  die, 
And  Music  shall  untune  the  sky! 

/.  Dry  J  en 

221.  Alexander's  Feast 

or,   The  Power  of  Music 

An   Ode  in  Honour  of  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  1697 

'  I  ^WAS  at  the  royal  feast,  for  Persia  won 

■^    By  Philip's  warlike  son: 
Aloft  in  awful  state 
The  godlike  hero  sate 
On  his  imperial  throne; 
His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around; 
46S 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Their  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtles  bound: 

(So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crowned). 
The  lovely  Thais,  by  his  side, 
Sate  like  a  blooming  Eastern  bride, 
In  flower  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride. 
Happy,  happy,  happy  pair! 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave. 
None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fair. 


Chorus 
Happy,  happy,  happy  pan! 
None  but  the  brave. 
None  but  the  brave. 
None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fair. 


Timotheus,  placed  on  high 
Amid  the  tuneful  quire, 
With  flying  fingers  touched  the  lyre: 

The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky. 
And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 
The  song  began  from  Jove, 
Who  left  his  blissful  seats  above, 
(Such  is  the  power  of  mighty  love.) 
A  dragon's  fiery  form  belied  the  god: 
Sublime  on  radiant  spires  he  rode, 
When  he  to  fair  Olympia  pressed: 
And  while  he  sought  her  snowy  breast, 

Then,  round  her  slender  waist  he  curled, 
And  stamped  an  image  of  himself,  a  sovereign  of  the  world. 

469 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  listening  crowd  admire  the  lofty  sound, 

A  present  deity,  they  shout  around; 

A  present  deity,  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound: 

With  ravished  ears 

The  monarch  hears, 

Assumes  the  god, 

Affects  to  nod, 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 


Chorus 
With  ravished  ears 
The  monarch  hears. 
Assumes  the  god, 
Ajfectsjo  nod 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 


The  praise  of  Bacchus  then  the  sweet  musician  sung, 
Of  Bacchus  ever  fair,  and  ever  young: 
The  jolly  god  in  triumph  comes; 
Sound  the  trumpets;  beat  the  drums; 
Flushed  with  a  purple  grace 
He  shows  his  honest  face: 
Now  give  the  hautboys  breath;  he  comes,  he  comes. 
Bacchus,  ever  fair  and  voung. 

Drinking  joys  did  first  ordain; 
Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure. 
Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure; 
Rich  the  treasure, 
Sweet  the  pleasure, 
Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain. 
470 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Chorus 
Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure. 
Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure; 
Rich  the  treasure, 
Sweet  the  pleasure. 
Sweet  IS  pleasure  after  pain. 

Soothed  with  the  sound  the  king  grew  vain; 

Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again; 
And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes,  and  thrice  he  slew  the 
slain. 
The  master  saw  the  madness  rise, 
His  glowing  cheeks,  his  ardent  eyes; 
And,  while  he  heaven  and  earth  defied. 
Changed  his  hand,  and  checked  his  pride. 

He  chose  a  mournful  Muse, 

Soft  pity  to  infuse; 
He  sung  Darius  great  and  good, 

By  too  severe  a  fate, 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen, 

Fallen  from  his  high  estate. 
And  weltering  in  his  blood; 
Deserted  at  his  utmost  need 
By  those  his  former  bounty  fed; 
On  the  bare  earth  exposed  he  lies. 
With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes. 

With  downcast  looks  the  joyless  victor  sate, 
Revolving  in  his  altered  soul 

The  various  turns  of  chance  below; 
And,  now  and  then,  a  sigh  he  stole. 

And  tears  began  to  flow. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Chorus 
Revolving  in  his  altered  soul 

The  various  turns  of  chance  below; 
And,  now  and  then,  a  sigh  he  stole. 

And  tears  began  to  flow. 


The  mighty  master  smiled  to  see 

That  love  was  in  the  next  degree; 

'Twas  but  a  kindred-sound  to  move, 

For  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love. 
Softly  sweet,  in  Lvdian  measures. 
Soon  he  soothed  his  soul  to  pleasures. 

War,  he  sung,  is  toil  and  trouble; 

Honour,  but  an  empty  bubble; 
Never  ending,  still  beginning. 

Fighting  still,  and  still  destroying: 
If  the  world  be  worth  thy  winning, 

Think,  O  think  it  worth  enjoying: 
Lovely  Thais  sits  beside  thee, 
Take  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee. 


The  many  rend  the  skies  with  loud  applause; 
So  Love  was  crowned,  but  Music  won  the  cause. 
The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain. 
Gazed  on  the  fair 
Who  caused  his  care. 
And  sighed  and  looked;  sighed  and  looked. 
Sighed  and  looked,  and  sighed  again; 
At  length,  with  love  and  wine  at  once  oppressed, 
The  vanquished  victor  sunk  upon  her  breast. 
47-' 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Chorus 
The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  hts  paittj 
Gazed  on  the  fair 
JVho  caused  his  care. 
And  sighed  and  looked,  sighed  and  looked. 
Sighed  and  looked,  and  sighed  again; 
At  length,  u'tth  love  and  wine  at  once  oppressed. 
The  vanquished  victor  sunk  upon  her  breast. 

Now  strike  the  golden  lyre  again; 
A  louder  yet,  and  yet  a  louder  strain. 
Break  his  bands  of  sleep  asunder, 
And  rouse  him,  like  a  rattling  peal  of  thunder. 
Hark,  hark,  the  horrid  sound 
Has  raised  up  his  head; 
As  awaked  from  the  dead. 
And  amazed,  he  stares  around. 
Revenge,  revenge!  Timotheus  cries, 
See  the  Furies  arise; 
See  the  snakes  that  they  rear. 
How  they  hiss  in  their  hair. 
And  the  sparkles  that  flash  from  their  eyes! 
Behold  a  ghastly  band, 
Each  a  torch  in  his  hand! 
Those  are  Grecian  ghosts,  that  in  battle  were  slain, 
And  unburied  remain 
Inglorious  on  the  plain: 
Give  the  vengeance  due 
To  the  valiant  crew. 
Behold  how  they  toss  their  torches  on  high. 

How  they  point  to  the  Persian  abodes. 
And  glittering  temples  of  their  hostile  gods. 

473 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  princes  applaud  with  a  furious  joy; 

And  the  king  seized  a  flambeau  with  zeal  to  destroy; 

Thais  led  the  way, 

To  light  him  to  his  prey, 
And,  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy. 

Chorus 
JnJ  the  king  seized  a  flambeau  wtth  zeal  to  destroy; 

Thais  led  the  ivay. 

To  light  htm  to  his  prey. 
And,  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy. 

Thus,  long  ago. 
Ere  heaving  bellows  learned  to  blow, 
While  organs  yet  were  mute, 
Timotheus,  to  his  breathing  flute, 
And  sounding  lyre. 
Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  or  kindle  soft  desire. 
At  last,  divine  Cecilia  came, 
Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame; 
The  sweet  enthusiast,  from  her  sacred  store, 
Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds. 
And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds, 
With  Nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown  before. 
Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize, 

Or  both  divide  the  crown: 
He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies; 
She  drew  an  angel  down. 

Grand  Chorus 
At  last,  divine  Ceeilta  came, 
Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame; 

474 


222 . 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  sweet  enthusiast,  from  her  sacred  store. 
Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds. 
And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds, 
With  Nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown  before. 
Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize, 

Or  both  divide  the  crown: 
He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies; 
She  drew  an  angel  down. 

J.  Dry  den 


The  Choice 


WHEN  first  Eternity  stoop'd  down  to  nought 
And  in  the  Earth  its  likeness  sought, 
When  first  it  out  of  nothing  fram'd  the  skies, 

And  form'd  the  moon  and  sun 
That  we  might  see  what  it  had  done, 
It  was  so  wise 
That  it  did  prize 
Things  truly  greatest,  brightest,  fairest,  best. 
All  which  it  made,  and  left  the  rest. 

Then  did  it  take  such  care  about  the  Truth, 

Its  daughter,  that  even  in  her  youth. 
Her  face  might  shine  upon  us,  and  be  known, 
That  by  a  better  fate. 
It  other  toys  might  antedate 
As  soon  as  shewn; 
And  be  our  own, 
While  we  were  hers;  and  that  a  virgin  love 
Her  best  inheritance  might  prove. 

475 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thoughts  undefiled,  simple,  naked,  pure; 

Thoughts  worthy  ever  to  endure, 
Our  first  and  disengaged  thoughts  it  loves, 
And  therefore  made  the  truth. 
In  infancy  and  tender  youth 
So  obvious  to 
Our  easy  v'levf 
That  it  doth  prepossess  our  Soul,  and  proves 
The  cause  of  what  it  all  ways  moves. 

By  merit  and  desire  it  doth  allure: 
For  truth  is  so  divine  and  pure, 
So  rich  and  acceptable,  being  seen, 
(Not  parted,  but  in  whole) 
That  it  doth  draw  and  force  the  soul. 
As  the  great  Queen 
Of  bliss,  between 
Whom  and  the  soul,  no  one  pretender  ought 
Thrust  in  to  captivate  a  thought. 

Hence  did  Eternity  contrive  to  make 
The  truth  so  fair  for  all  our  sake 
That  being  truth,  and  fair  and  easy  too, 
While  it  on  all  doth  shine, 
We  might  by  it  become  divine, 
Being  led  to  woo 
The  thing  we  view. 
And  as  chaste  virgins  early  with  it  join. 
That  with  it  we  might  likewise  shine. 

Eternity  doth  give  the  richest  things 
To  every  man,  and  makes  all  Kings. 
476 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  best  and  richest  things  it  doth  convey 
To  all,  and  every  one, 
It  raised  me  unto  a  throne! 
Which  I  enjoy, 
In  such  a  way. 
That  truth  her  daughter  is  my  chiefest  bride, 
Her  daughter  truth's  my  chiefest  pride. 

All  mine!  And  seen  so  easily!  How  great,  how  blest! 

How  soon  am  I  of  all  possest! 
My  infancy  no  sooner  opes  its  eyes. 
But  straight  the  spacious  Earth 
Abounds  with  joy,  peace,  glory,  ;nirth. 
And  being  wise 
The  very  skies. 
And  stars  do  mine  become;  being  all  possest 
Even  in  that  way  that  is  the  best. 

T.  Traherne 


22^.  The  Person 

"\7'E  Sacred  limbs, 

-*■  A  richer  blazon  I  will  lay 

On  you  than  first  I  found: 
That  like  celestial  kings, 

Ye  might  with  ornaments  of  joy 
Be  always  crown'd. 

A  deep  vermilion  on  a  red. 

On  that  a  scarlet  I  will  lay, 

With  gold  I'll  crown  your  head, 
Which  like  the  Sun  shall  ray. 


477 


THE  BOOK  OF 

With  robes  of  glory  and  delight 
I'll  make  you  bright. 
Mistake  me  not,  I  do  not  mean  to  bring 

New  robes,  but  to  display  the  thing: 
Nor  paint,  nor  clothe,  nor  crown,  nor  add  a  ray, 
But  glorify  by  taking  all  away. 

The  naked  things 
Are  most  sublime,  and  brightest  show, 
When  they  alone  are  seen: 
Men's  hands  than  Afigels'  wings 
Are  truer  wealth  even  here  below: 

For  those  but  seem. 
Their  worth  they  then  do  best  reveal, 
When  we  all  metaphors  remove. 
For  metaphors  conceal. 
And  only  vapours  prove. 
They  best  are  blazon'd  when  we  see 

The  anatomy. 
Survey  the  skin,  cut  up  the  flesh,  the  veins 
Unfold:  the  glory  there  remains: 
The  muscles,  fibres,  arteries,  and  bones 
Are  better  far  than  crowns  and  precious  stones. 

Shall  I  not  then 
Delight  in  those  most  sacred  treasures 
Which  my  great  Father  gave. 
Far  more  than  other  men 
Delight  in  gold  ?  Since  these  are  pleasures 

That  make  us  brave! 
Far  braver  than  the  pearl  and  gold 
That  glitter  on  a  lady's  neck! 
478 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  rubies  we  behold. 

The  diamonds  that  deck 
The  hands  of  queens,  compared  unto 

The  hands  we  view; 
The  softer  HHes  and  the  roses  are 

Less  ornaments  to  those  that  wear 
The  same,  than  the  hands,  and  hps  and  eyes 
Of  those  who  those  false  ornaments  so  prize. 

Let  verity 
Be  thy  delight;  let  me  esteem 
True  wealth  far  more  than  toys: 
Let  sacred  riches  be. 
While  falser  treasures  only  seem, 

My  real  joys. 
For  golden  chains  and  bracelets  are 
But  gilded  manacles,  whereby 
Old  Satan  doth  ensnare, 
Allure,  bewitch  the  eye. 
Thy  gifts,  O  God,  alone  I'll  prize, 
My  tongue,  my  eyes, 
My  cheeks,  my  lips,  my  ears,  my  hands,  my  feet; 

Their  harmony  is  far  more  sweet; 
Their  beauty  true.  And  these  in  all  my  ways 
Shall  themes  become  and  organs  of  Thy  praise. 

T .  Traherne 


479 


THE  BOOK  OF 
22^.  Contentatwn 

Directed  to  my  Dear  Father  and  most  Worthy 
Friend,  Mr.  Izaak  Walton 

T  T  EAVEN.  what  an  age  is  this!  what  race 

Of  giants  are  sprung  up,  that  dare 
Thus  fly  in  the  Almighty's  face, 
And  with  His  providence  make  war! 

I  can  go  nowhere  but  I  meet 
With  malcontents  and  mutineers, 
As  if  in  life  was  nothing  sweet. 
And  we  must  blessings  reap  in  tears. 

O  senseless  man,  that  murmurs  still 
For  happiness,  and  does  not  know. 
Even  though  he  might  enjoy  his  will, 
What  he  would  have  to  make  him  so. 

Is  it  true  happiness  to  be 

By  undiscerning  Fortune  placed 

In  the  most  eminent  degree 

Where  few  arrive,  and  none  stand  fast  ? 

Titles  and  wealth  are  Fortune's  toils 
Wherewith  the  vain  themselves  ensnare* 
The  great  are  proud  of  borrowed  spoils 
The  miser's  plenty  breeds  his  care. 

The  one  supinely  yawns  at  rest. 
The  other  eternally  doth  toil, 
480 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Each  of  them  equally  a  beast, 

A  pampered  horse,  or  labouring  moil. 

The  Titulado's  oft  disgraced 
By  public  hate  or  private  frown, 
And  he  whose  hand  the  creature  raised 
Has  yet  a  foot  to  kick  him  down. 

The  drudge  who  would  all  get,  all  save, 
Like  a  brute  beast  both  feeds  and  lies, 
Prone  to  the  earth,  he  digs  his  grave. 
And  in  every  labour  dies. 

Excess  of  ill-got,  ill-kept  pelf, 
Does  only  death  and  danger  breed; 
Whilst  one  rich  worldling  starves  himself 
With  what  would  thousand  others  feed. 

By  which  we  see  what  wealth  and  power 
— Although  they  make  men  rich  and  great- 
The  sweets  of  life  do  often  sour. 
And  gull  ambition  with  a  cheat. 

Nor  is  he  happier  than  these 
Who,  in  a  moderate  estate, 
Where  he  might  safely  live  at  ease, 
Has  lusts  that  are  immoderate; 

For  he,  by  those  desires  misled, 
Quits  his  own  vine's  securing  shade, 
T'  expose  his  naked,  empty  head 
To  all  the  storms  man's  peace  invade. 

481 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Nor  is  he  happy  who  is  trim, 
Tricked  up  in  favours  of  the  fair, 
Mirrors,  with  every  breath  made  dim, 
Birds  caught  in  every  wanton  snare. 

Woman,  man's  greatest  woe,  or  bUss, 
Does  ofter  far,  than  serve,  enslave. 
And  with  the  magic  of  a  kiss 
Destroys  whom  she  was  made  to  save. 

O  fruitful  grief,  the  world's  disease! 
And  vainer  man  to  make  it  so. 
Who  gives  his  miseries  increase 
By  cultivating  his  own  woe. 

There  are  no  ills  but  what  we  make 
By  giving  shapes  and  names  to  things; 
Which  is  the  dangerous  mistake 
That  causes  all  our  sufferings. 

We  call  that  sickness  which  is  health, 
That  persecution  which  is  grace; 
That  poverty  which  is  true  wealth. 
And  that  dishonour  which  is  praise. 


Providence  watches  over  all, 
And  that  with  an  impartial  eye; 
And  if  to  misery  we  fall 
'Tis  through  our  own  infirmity. 
482 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'Tis  want  of  foresight  makes  the  bold 
Ambitious  youth  to  danger  chmb, 
And  want  of  virtue  when  the  old 
At  persecution  do  repine. 

Alas,  our  time  is  here  so  short 
That,  in  what  state  soe'er  'tis  spent 
Of  joy  or  woe,  does  not  import, 
Provided  it  be  innocent. 

But  we  may  make  it  pleasant  too 
If  we  will  take  our  measures  right, 
And  not  what  Heaven  has  done  undo 
By  an  unruly  appetite. 

'Tis  Contentation  that  alone 
Can  make  us  happy  here  below, 
And,  when  this  little  life  is  gone. 
Will  lift  us  up  to  Heaven  too. 

A  very  little  satisfies 

An  honest  and  a  grateful  heart, 

And  who  would  more  than  will  suffice 

Does  covet  more  than  is  his  part. 

That  man  is  happy  in  his  share 
Who  is  warm  clad,  and  cleanly  fed. 
Whose  necessaries  bound  his  care. 
And  honest  labour  makes  his  bed; 

Who  free  from  debt,  and  clear  from  crimes. 
Honours  those  laws  that  others  fear; 

483 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Who  ill  of  princes  in  worst  times 
Will  neither  speak  himself,  nor  hear; 

Who  from  the  busy  world  retires 
To  be  more  useful  to  it  still, 
And  to  no  greater  good  aspires 
But  only  the  eschewing  ill; 

Who,  with  his  angle,  and  his  books. 
Can  think  the  longest  day  well  spent, 
And  praises  God  when  back  he  looks. 
And  finds  that  all  was  innocent. 

This  man  is  happier  far  than  he 
Whom  public  business  oft  betrays, 
Through  labyrinths  of  policy. 
To  crooked  and  forbidden  ways. 

The  world  is  full  of  beaten  roads. 
But  yet  so  slippery  withal. 
That  where  one  walks  secure,  'tis  odds 
A  hundred  and  a  hundred  fall. 

Untrodden  paths  are  then  the  best, 
Where  the  frequented  are  unsure. 
And  he  comes  soonest  to  his  rest 
Whose  journey  has  been  most  secure. 

It  is  Content  alone  that  makes 
Our  pilgrimage  a  pleasure  here. 
And  who  buys  sorrow  cheapest  takes 
An  ill  commodity  too  dear. 
484 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  he  has  Fortune's  worst  withstood, 
And  Happiness  can  never  miss, 
Can  covet  naught,  but  where  he  stood. 
And  thinks  him  happy  where  he  is. 

C.  Cotton 


22^.  Upon  Nothing 

"\  TOTHING!  thou  elder  brother  even  to  shade, 
"^  ^  That  hadst  a  being  ere  the  world  was  made. 
And  (well  fixed)  art  alone  of  ending  not  afraid. 

Ere  Time  and  Place  were.  Time  and  Place  were  not, 
When  primitive  Nothing  Something  straight  begot, 
Then  all  proceeded  from  the  great  united — ^What  ? 

Something,  the  general  attribute  of  all, 

Sever'd  from  thee,  its  sole  original. 

Into  thy  boundless  self  must  undistinguish'd  fall. 

Yet  Something  did  thy  mighty  power  command, 
And  from  thy  fruitful  emptiness's  hand 
Snatch'd  men,  beasts,  birds,  fire,  air,  and  land. 

Matter,  the  wicked'st  offspring  of  thy  race, 

By  Form  assisted,  flew  from  thy  embrace; 

And  rebel  Light  obscured  thy  reverend  dusky  face. 

With  Form  and  Matter,  Time  and  Place  did  join; 
Body,  thy  foe,  with  thee  did  leagues  combine. 
To  spoil  thy  peaceful  realm,  and  ruin  all  thy  line. 

485 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  turn-coat  Time  assists  the  foe  in  vain, 
And,  bribed  by  thee,  assists  thy  short-Hv'd  reign, 
And  to  thy  hungry  womb  drives  back  thy  slaves  again. 

Though  mysteries  are  barr'd  from  laic  eyes. 

And  the  divine  alone,  with  warrant,  pries 

Into  thy  bosom,  where  the  truth  in  private  lies; 

Yet  this  of  thee  the  wise  may  freely  say. 
Thou  from  the  virtuous  Nothing  tak'st  away, 
And  to  be  part  with  thee  the  wicked  wisely  pray 

Great  Negative!  how  vainly  would  the  wise 

Inquire,  define,  distinguish,  teach,  devise? 

Didst  thou  not  stand  to  point  their  dull  philosophies. 

Is,  or  is  not,  the  two  great  ends  of  Fate, 
And,  true  or  false,  the  subject  of  debate. 
That  perfect  or  destroy  the  vast  designs  of  Fate; 

When  they  have  rack'd  the  politician's  breast. 

Within  thy  bosom  most  securely  rest. 

And,  when  reduced  to  thee,  are  least  unsafe  and  best. 

But  Nothing,  why  does  Something  still  permit, 

That  sacred  monarchs  should  at  council  sit. 

With  persons  highly  thought  at  best  for  nothing  fit  ? 

Whilst  weighty  Something  modestly  abstains 
From  princes'  coffers,  and  from  statesmen's  brains, 
And  nothing  there  like  stately  Nothing  reigns. 
486 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Nothing,  who  dwell'st  with  fools  in  grave  disguise,     , 
For  whom  they  reverend  shapes  and  forms  devise, 
Lawn  sleeves,  and  furs,  and  gowns,  when  they  like  thee 
look  wise. 

French  truth,  Dutch  prowess,  British  policy, 
Hibernian  learning,  Scotch  civility, 
Spaniards'  dispatch,  Danes'  wit,  are  mainly  seen  in  thee. 
J.   fFihnot,  Earl  of  Rochester 


226.  To  a  Very   Young  Lady 

C  WEETEST  Bud  of  Beauty!  may 
^^   No  untimely  frost  decay 
The  early  glories,  which  we  trace 
Blooming  in  thy  matchless  face. 
But  kindly  opening,  like  the  rose, 
Fresh  beauties,  every  day  disclose; 
Such  as  by  Nature  are  not  shown 
In  all  the  blossoms  she  has  blown: 
And  then,  what  conquest  shall  you  make; 
Who  hearts  already  daily  take! 
Scorched,  in  the  morning  with  thy  beams, 
How  shall  we  bear  those  sad  extremes 
Which  must  attend  thy  threatening  eyes, 
Wh^n  thou  shalt  to  thy  noon  arise  ? 

Sir  G.  Ether ege 


487 


THE  BOOK  OF 

22y.  To  u  Very   Young  Lady 

A  H,  Chloris!  that  I  now  could  sit 
■*^  As  unconcerned,  as  when 

Your  infant  beauty  could  beget 
No  pleasure  nor  no  pain. 

When  I  the  dawn  used  to  admire, 

And  praised  the  coming  day, 
I  little  thought  the  growing  fire 
'  Must  take  my  rest  away. 

Your  charms  in  harmless  childhood  lay, 

Like  metals  in  the  mine; 
Age  from  no  face  took  more  away, 

Than  youth  concealed  in  thine. 

-  But  as  your  charms  insensibly 
To  their  perfection  prest. 
Fond  love  as  unperceived  did  fly. 
And  in  my  bosom  rest. 

My  passion  with  your  beauty  grew. 

And  Cupid  at  my  heart, 
Still,  as  his  mother  favoured  you, 

Threw  a  new  flaming  dart. 

Each  gloried  in  their  wanton  part:      , 

To  make  a  lover,  he 
Employed  the  utmost  of  his  art — 

To  make  a  beauty,  she. 
488 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Though  now  I  slowly  bend  to  love, 

Uncertain  of  my  fate, 
If  your  fair  self  my  chains  approve, 

I  shall  my  freedom  hate. 

Lovers,  like  dying  men,  may  well 

At  first  disordered  be; 
Since  none  alive  can  truly  tell 

What  fortune  they  must  see. 

Sir  C.  Sedley 


228.  Love's  New  Philosophy 

\  1  rnOE'ER  a  lover  is  of  art, 
*  •       May  come  and  learn  of  me 

A  new  philosophy. 
Such  as  no  schools  could  e'er  impart. 
Love  all  my  other  notions  does  control. 
And  reads  these  stranger  lectures  to  my  soul. 

This  god  who  takes  delight  to  lie. 
Does  sacred  truths  defame, 
And  Aristotle  blame. 
Concluding  all  by  subtilty: 
His  syllogisms  with  such  art  are  made, 
Not  Solomon  himself  could  them  evade. 

So  wondrous  is  his  art  and  skill, 
His  reasons  pierce,  like  darts. 
Men's  intellects  and  hearts; 

Old  maxims  he  destroys  at  will, 

489 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  blinded  Plato  so,  he  made  him  think, 
'Twas  water,  when  he  gave  him  fire  to  drink. 

That  water  can  extinguish  fire, 
All  ages  did  allow; 
But  Love  denies  it  now, 
And  says  it  makes  his  flame  rage  higher; 
Which  truth  myself  have  prov'd  for  many  years, 
Wherein  I've  wept  whole  deluges  of  tears. 

At  the  sun's  rays,  you,  Cynthia,  know. 
The  ice  no  more  can  melt. 
Nor  can  the  fire  be  felt. 
Or  have  it  wonted  influence  on  snow: 
By  your  relentless  heart  is  this  exprest, 
Your  eyes  are  suns,  the  fire  is  in  my  breast: 

When  soul  and  body  separate, 
That  then  the  life  must  die: 
This  too  I  must  deny. 
My  soul's  with  her,  who  rules  my  fate. 
Yet  still  my  organs  move  a  proof  to  give, 
That  soul  and  body  can  divided  live. 

Remove  the  cause,  th   effects  will  cease. 
This  is  an  error  too. 
And  found  by  me  untrue; 
My  fair  when  near  disturbs  my  peace, 
But  when  she's  furthest  off",  no  tongue  can  tell 
The  raging  pangs  of  Love  my  heart  does  feel. 
490 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

All  creatures  love  not  their  own  kind. 
I  this  new  axiom  try: 
And  that  all  fear  to  die 
By  nature — a  mistake  I  find: 
For  I,  a  man,  do  a  fierce  creature  love, 
And  such,  I  know,  that  will  my  murd'ress  prove. 

Here  two  extremes  are  eas'ly  join'd, 

Joy  and  grief  in  my  breast, 

Which  give  my  soul  no  rest; 
Both  to  torment  me  are  combin'd: 
For  when  I  view  the  source  of  all  my  wrong, 
I  sigh  my  music,  mix  with  tears  my  song. 

That  all  things  like  effects  produce: 
I  readily  can  prove 
A  paradox  in  Love, 
And  my  conclusion  hence  deduce; 
Cold  Cynthia  to  my  zeal  yields  no  return, 
Though  ice  her  heart   she  makes  my  heart  to  burn. 

Whilst  in  this  torment  I  remain, 
It  is  no  mystery 
To  be,  and  not  to  be; 
I  die  to  joy,  and  live  to  pain. 
So  that,  my  fair,  I  may  be  justly  said. 
To  be,  and  not  to  be,  alive  and  dead. 

Now,  go,  my  song,  yet  shun  the  eyes 

Of  those  ne'er  felt  Love's  flame. 

And  if  my  Cynthia  blame 
Thy  arguments  as  sopphistries, 

491 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Tell  her,  this  is  Love's  New  Philosophy, 
Which  none  can  understand,  but  such  as  try. 

P.  Ayres 

22g.      Love  JVill  Find  Out  the  Way 

/'~\VER  the  mountains 
^^  And  over  the  waves, 

Under  the  fountains 

And  under  the  graves; 
Under  floods  that  are  deepest, 

Which  Neptune  obey, 
Over  rocks  that  are  steepest 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Where  there  is  no  place 

For  the  glowworm  to  lie; 
Where  there  is  no  space 

For  receipt  of  a  fly; 
Where  the  midge  dares  not  venture, 

Lest  herself  fast  she  lay; 
If  Love  come,  he  will  enter 

And  will  find  out  the  way. 

You  may  esteem  him 

A  child  for  his  might; 
Or  you  may  deem  him 

A  coward  for  his  flight; 
But  if  she  whom  Love  doth  honour 

Be  concealed  from  the  day. 
Set  a  thousand  guards  upon  her. 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 
492 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Some  think  to  lose  him 

By  having  him  confined; 
And  some  do  suppose  him, 

Poor  heart!  to  be  blind; 
But  if  ne'er  so  close  you  wall  him, 

Do  the  best  that  you  may, 
Blind  Love,  if  so  you  call  him, 

He  will  find  out  his  way. 

You  may  train  the  eagle 

To  stoop  to  your  fist; 
Or  you  may  inveigle 

The  phoenix  of  the  east; 
The  lioness,  you  may  move  her 

To  give  o'er  her  prey; 
But  you'll  ne'er  stop  a  lover, 

He  will  find  out  the  way. 

If  the  earth  it  should  part  him, 

He  would  gallop  it  o'er; 
If  the  seas  should  o'erthwart  him. 

He  would  swim  to  the  shore. 
Should  his  Love  become  a  swallow, 

Through  the  air  to  stray. 
Love  will  lend  wings  to  follow. 

And  will  find  out  the  way. 

There  is  no  striving 

To  cross  his  intent, 
There  is  no  contriving 

His  plots  to  prevent; 


493 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  if  once  the  message  greet  him, 
That  his  true-love  doth  stay, 

If  death  should  come  and  meet  him, 
Love  will  find  out  the  way. 


Jnc 


2^0.  The  Lure 

"T^AREWELL!  Nay,  prithee  turn  again; 
-*-       Rather  than  lose  thee  I'll  arraign 
Myself  before  thee!  thou  (most  fair!)  shall  be 
Thyself  the  judge: 
I'll  never  grudge 
A  law  ordained  by  thee. 

Pray  do  but  see  how  every  rose 
A  sanguine  visage  doth  disclose; 
O!  see  what  aromatic  gusts  they  breathe; 

Come,  here  we'll  sit, 

And  learn  to  knit 
Them  up  into  a  wreath. 

With  that  wreath  crowned  shalt  thou  be; 
Not  graced  by  it,  but  it  by  thee; 
Then  shall  the  fawning  zephyrs  wait  to  hear 

What  thou  shalt  say, 

And  softly  play, 
While  news  to  me  they  bear. 

See  how  they  revelling  appear 
Within  the  windings  of  thy  hair, 
494 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

See  how  they  steal  the  choicest  odours  from 
The  balmy  spring, 
That  they  may  bring 
Them  to  thee,  when  they  come. 

Look  how  the  daflodils  arise, 
Cheer'd  by  the  influence  of  thine  eyes, 
And  others  emulating  them  deny; 

They  cannot  strain 

To  bloom  again. 
Where  such  strong  beams  do  fly. 

Be  not  ungrateful,  but  lie  down, 
Since  for  thy  sake  so  brisk  they're  grown, 
And  such  a  downy  carpet  have  bespread, 

That  pure  delight 

Is  freshly  dight. 
And  trick'd  in  white  and  red. 

Be  conquer'd  by  such  charms,  there  shall 
Not  always  such  enticements  fall; 
What  know  we,  whether  that  rich  spring  of  light 
Will  stanch  his  streams 
Of  golden  beams. 
Ere  the  approach  of  night. 

How  know  we  whether  't  shall  not  be 
The  last  to  either  thee  or  me  ? 
He  can  at  will  his  ancient  brightness  gain; 
But  thou  and  I, 
When  we  shall  die. 
Shall  still  in  dust  remain. 

495 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Come,  prithee  come,  we'll  now  essay 
To  piece  the  scant'ness  of  the  day, 
We'll  pluck  the  wheels  from  th'  chariot  of  the  sun, 
That  he  may  give 
Us  time  to  live, 
Till  that  our  scene  be  done. 

W  are  in  the  blossom  of  our  age, 
Let  us  dance  o'er,  not  tread  the  stage; 
Though  fear  and  sorrow  strive  to  pull  us  back. 

And  still  present 

Doubts  of  content, 
They  shall  not  make  us  slack. 

We'll  suffer  viperous  thoughts  and  cares 
To  follow  after  silver  hairs; 
Let's  not  anticipate  them  long  before. 

When  they  begin 

To  enter  in. 
Each  minute  they'll  grow  more. 

No,  no,  Romira,  see  this  brook. 
How  't  would  its  posting  course  revoke 
Ere  it  shall  in  the  ocean  mingled  lie; 

And  what,  I  pray. 

May  cause  this  stay, 
But  to  attest  our  joy  ? 

Far  be't  from  lust;  such  wildfire  ne'er 
Shall  dare  to  lurk  or  kindle  here; 
41*6 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Diviner  flames  shall  in  our  fancies  roll, 
Which  not  depress 
To  earthliness, 
But  elevate  the  soul. 

Then  shall  aggrandis'd  love  confess 
That  souls  can  mingle  substances, 
That  hearts  can  eas'ly  counter-changed  be, 
Or  at  the  least 
Can  alter  breasts, 
When  breasts  themselves  agree. 


J.   Hall 


231.  The  Call 

T3  OMIRA,  stay, 

•*- *-     And  run  not  thus  like  a  young  roe  away; 

No  enemy 
Pursues  thee  (foolish  girl!),  'tis  only  I: 

I'll  keep  off  harms. 
If  thou'll  be  pleased  to  garrison  mine  arms; 

What,  dost  thou  fear 
I'll  turn  a  traitor  ?  may  these  roses  here 

To  paleness  shred, 
And  lilies  stand  disguised  in  new  red, 

If  that  I  lay 
A  snare,  wherein  thou  would'st  not  gladly  stay. 

See,  see,  the  Sun 
Does  slowly  to  his  azure  lodging  run; 

Come,  sit  but  here, 

497 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  presently  he'll  quit  our  hemisphere: 

So,  still  among 
Lovers,  time  is  too  short  or  else  too  long; 

Here  will  we  spin 
Legends  for  them  that  have  love-martyrs  been; 

Here  on  this  plain 
We'll  talk  Narcissus  to  a  flower  again. 

Come  here,  and  choose 
On  which  of  these  proud  plats  thou  would  repose; 

Here  may'st  thou  shame 
The  rusty  violets,  with  the  crimson  flame 

Of  either  cheek, 
And  primroses  white  as  thy  fingers  seek; 

Nay,  thou  may'st  prove 
That  man's  most  noble  passion  is  to  love. 

J.  Hall 


2^2.      You  Pleasing  Dreams  of  Love 
and  Sweet  Delight 

"\7'0U  pleasing  dreams  of  love  and  sweet  delight, 
■''■     Appear  before  this  slumbering  virgin's  sight; 
Soft  visions  set  her  free 
From  mournful  piety. 
Let  her  sad  thoughts  from  heaven  retire, 
And  let  the  melancholy  love 
Of  those  remoter  joys  above 
Give  place  to  your  more  sprightly  fire. 
Let  purling  streams  be  in  her  fancy  seen, 
And  flowery  meads,  and  vales  of  cheerful  green, 
498 


RESTORAllON  VERSE 

And  in  the  midst  of  deathless  groves 
Soft  sighing  wishes  lie, 
And  smihng  hopes  fast  by, 
And  just  beyond  them  ever-laughing  loves. 

/.  Dryden 


233'  ^ong 

T    OVE  in  fantastic  triumph  sate, 

-■— '     Whilst  bleeding  hearts  around  him  flowed, 

For  whom  fresh  pains  he  did  create. 

And  strange  tyrannic  power  he  showed; 
From  thy  bright  eyes  he  took  his  fires, 

Which  round  about  in  sport  he  hurled; 
But  'twas  from  mine  he  took  desires 

Enough  to  undo  the  amorous  world. 

From  me  he  took  his  sighs  and  tears. 

From  thee  his  pride  and  cruelty. 
From  me  his  languishment  and  fears, 

And  every  killing  dart  from  thee; 
Thus  thou,  and  I,  the  god  have  armed, 

And  set  him  up  a  deity. 
But  my  poor  heart  alone  is  harmed, 

Whilst  thine  the  victor  is,  and  free. 

A.  Behn 


499 


THE  BOOK  OF 

2^4.    Love  Still  Has  Something  of  the 
Sea 

T    OVE  still  has  something  of  the  sea, 
^-^  From  whence  his  mother  rose; 
No  time  his  slaves  from  love  can  free, 
Nor  give  their  thoughts  repose. 

They  are  becalmed  in  clearest  days. 
And  in  rough  weather  tossed; 

They  wither  under  cold  delays, 
Or  are  in  tempests  lost. 

One  while  they  seem  to  touch  the  port, 

Then  straight  into  the  main 
Some  angry  wind  in  cruel  sport 

The  vessel  drives  again. 

At  first  Disdain  and  Pride  they  fear, 
Which,  if  they  chance  to  'scape, 

Rivals  and  Falsehood  soon  appear 
In  a  more  dreadful  shape. 

By  such  degrees  to  joy  they  come, 

And  are  so  long  withstood, 
So  slowly  they  receive  the  sum, 

It  hardly  does  them  good. 

'Tis  cruel  to  prolong  a  pain. 

And  to  defer  a  joy, 
Believe  me,  gentle  Celemene, 

Offends  the  winged  boy. 

500 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

An  hundred  thousand  oaths  your  fears 

Perhaps  would  not  remove, 
And  if  I  gazed  a  thousand  years 

I  could  no  deeper  love. 


Sir  C.  Sedley 


255.  Les  Amours 

O  HE,  that  I  pursue,  still  flies  me; 
*^       Her,  that  follows  me,  I  fly; 
She,  that  I  still  court,  denies  me: 

Her,  that  courts  me,  I  deny. 
Thus  in  one  web  we're  subtly  wove, 
And  yet  we  mutiny  in  love. 

She,  that  can  save  me,  must  not  do  it; 

She,  that  cannot,  fain  would  do; 
Her  love  is  bound,  yet  I  still  woo  it; 

Hers  by  love  is  bound  in  woe: 
'Yet,  how  can  I  of  love  complain, 
Since  I  have  love  for  love  again  ? 

This  is  thy  work,  imperious  Child, 
Thine's  this  labyrinth  of  love. 

That  thus  hast  our  desires  beguiled. 
Nor  see'st  how  thine  arrows  rove. 

Then  prithee,  to  compose  this  stir, 

Make  her  love  me,  or  me  love  her. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But,  if  irrevocable  are 

Those  keen  shafts,  that  wound  us  so; 
Let  me  prevail  with  thee  thus  far, 

That  thou  once  more  take  thy  bow; 
Wound  her  hard  heart,  and  by  my  troth 
I'll  be  content  to  take  them  both. 

C.   Cotton 


2^6.  The  Plaything  Changed 

T/'ITTY'S  charming  voice  and  face, 
-*•  *■       Syren-like,  first  caught  my  fancy; 
Wit  and  humour  next  take  place, 
And  now  I  doat  on  sprightly  Nancy. 

Kitty  tunes  her  pipe  in  vain. 

With  airs  most  languishing  and  dying; 

Calls  me  false  ungrateful  swain, 

And  tries  in  vain  to  shoot  me  flying. 

Nancy  with  resistless  art, 

AKvays  humorous,  gay  and  witty, 
Has  talk'd  herself  into  my  heart. 

And  quite  excluded  tuneful  Kitty. 

Ah,  Kitty!  Love  a  wanton  boy. 

Now  pleased  with  song,  and  now  with  prattle, 
Still  longing  for  the  nearest  toy. 

Has  chang'd  his  whistle  for  a  rattle. 

Anon. 
502 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

257.     He  or  She    That  Hopes   to   Gain 

T  T  E  or  she  that  hopes  to  gain 

*■   *    Love's  best  sweet  without  some  pain, 

Hopes  in  vain. 

Cupid's  Hvery  no  one  wears 
But  must  put  on  hopes  and  fears, 
Smiles  and  tears, 

And,  Hke  to  April  weather, 
Rain  and  shine  both  together, 
Both  or  neither. 


238. 


Song 


t'~\  LOVE!  that  stronger  art  than  wine, 
^^     Pleasing  delusion,  witchery  divine, 
Wont  to  be  prized  above  all  wealth. 
Disease  that  has  more  joys  than  health; 
Though  we  blaspheme  thee  in  our  pain. 
And  of  thy  tyranny  complain. 
We  are  all  bettered  by  thy  reign. 

What  reason  never  can  bestow 

We  to  this  useful  passion  owe: 

Love  wakes  the  dull  from  sluggish  ease, 

And  learns  a  clown  the  art  to  please, 


S^?, 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Humbles  the  vain,  kindles  the  cold, 
Makes  misers  free,  and  cowards  bold; 
'Tis  he  reforms  the  sot  from  drink, 
And  teaches  airy  fops  to  think. 

When  full  brute  appetite  is  fed. 

And  choked  the  glutton  lies  and  dead, 

Thou  new  spirits  dost  dispense 

And  finest  the  gross  delights  of  sense: 

Virtue's  unconquerable  aid 

That  against  Nature  can  persuade, 

And  makes  a  roving  mind  retire 

Within  the  bounds  of  just  desire; 

Cheerer  of  age,  youth's  kind  unrest, 

And  half  the  heaven  of  the  blest! 


2^g.  The  Enchantment 

T    DID  but  look  and  love  awhile, 
-■-      'Twas  but  for  one  half-hour; 
Then  to  resist  I  had  no  will, 
And  now  I  have  no  power. 

To  sigh  and  wish  is  all  my  ease; 

Sighs  which  do  heat  impart 
Enough  to  melt  the  coldest  ice, 
Yet  cannot  warm  your  heart. 
504 


A.  Behn 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

O  would  your  pity  give  my  heart 

One  corner  of  your  breast, 
'Twould  learn  of  yours  the  winning  art, 

And  quickly  steal  the  rest. 

r.  Otwa 


y 


2/fO.  Constancy 

T  CANNOT  change  as  others  do, 
•*-    Though  you  unjustly  scorn; 
Since  that  poor  swain  that  sighs  for  you 

For  you  alone  was  born. 
No,  Phillis,  no;  your  heart  to  move 

A  surer  way  I'll  try; 
And,  to  revenge  my  slighted  love, 

Will  still  love  on  and  die. 

When  killed  with  love  Amyntas  lies, 

And  you  to  mind  shall  call 
The  sighs  that  now  unpitied  rise, 

The  tears  that  vainly  fall — 
That  welcome  hour,  that  ends  this  smart, 

Will  then  begin  your  pain; 
For  such  a  faithful  tender  heart 

Can  never  break  in  vain. 

/.    fVilmot,  Earl  of  Rochesta 


S05 


THE  BOOK  OF 
241,  Love  and  Life 

A  LL  my  past  life  is  mine  no  more; 
■^  *-  The  flying  hours  are  gone, 

Like  transitory  dreams  given  o'er, 
Whose  images  are  kept  in  store 
By  memory  alone. 

The  time  that  is  to  come  is  not; 

How  can  it  then  be  mine  ? 
The  present  moment's  all  my  lot; 
And  that,  as  fast  as  it  is  got, 

Phillis,  is  only  thine. 

Then  talk  not  of  inconstancy, 

False  hearts,  and  broken  vows; 
If  I  by  miracle  can  be 
This  live-long  minute  true  to  thee, 

'Tis  all  that  Heaven  allows. 

].   fVilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester 


242.  To  His  Mistress 

"\  X  THY  dost  thou  shade  thy  lovely  face  ^.  O  why 
'  *       Does  that  eclipsing  hand  of  thine  deny 
The  sunshine  of  the  Sun's  enlivening  eye  ? 

Without  thy  light  what  light  remains  in  me  ? 
Thou  art  my  life;  my  way,  my  light's  in  thee; 
I  live,  I  move,  and  by  thy  beams  I  see. 
506 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thou  art  my  life — if  thou  but  turn  away 

My  life's  a  thousand  deaths.  Thou  art  my  way — 

Without  thee,  Love,  I  travel  not  but  stay. 

My  light  thou  art — without  thy  glorious  sight 
My  eyes  are  darken'd  with  eternal  night. 
My  Love,  thou  art  my  way,  my  life,  my  light. 

Thou  art  my  way;  I  wander  if  thou  fly. 
Thou  art  my  light;  if  hid,  how  blind  am  I! 
Thou  art  my  life;  if  thou  withdraw'st,  I  die. 

My  eyes  are  dark  and  blind,  I  cannot  see: 
To  whom  or  whither  should  my  darkness  flee, 
But  to  that  light  ? — and  who's  that  light  but  thee  ? 

If  I  have  lost  my  path,  dear  lover,  say, 
Shall  I  still  wander  in  a  doubtful  way  ? 
Love,  shall  a  lamb  of  Israel's  sheepfold  stray  I 

My  path  is  lost,  my  wandering  steps  do  stray; 

I  cannot  go,  nor  can  I  safely  stay; 

Whom  should  I  seek  but  thee,  my  path,  my  way  ? 

And  yet  thou  turn'st  thy  face  away  and  fly'st  me! 
And  yet  I  sue  for  grace  and  thou  deny'st  me! 
Speak,  art  thou  angry.  Love,  or  only  try'st  me? 

Thou  art  the  pilgrim's  path,  the  blind  man's  eye, 
The  dead  man's  life.  On  thee  my  hopes  rely: 
If  I  but  them  remove,  I  surely  die. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Dissolve  thy  sunbeams,  close  thy  wings  and  stayl 
See,  see  how  I  am  blind,  and  dead,  and  stray! 
— O  thou  that  art  my  life,  my  light,  my  way! 

Then  work  thy  will!  If  passion  bid  me  flee, 
My  reason  shall  obey,  my  wings  shall  be 
Stretch'd  out  no  farther  than  from  me  to  thee! 

J.    JVtlmot,  Earl  of  Rochester 

2^^.     On  the  Eyes  and  Breasts  of  the 
Lady  on  Whom  He  Was 
Enamoured 

T    ADY,  on  your  eyes  I  gazed; 
'-^  When  amazed 

At  their  brightness. 
On  your  breasts  I  cast  a  look, 
No  less  took 
With  their  whiteness: 
Both  I  justly  did  admire. 
These  all  snow  and  those  all  fire. 

Whilst  these  wonders  I  survey'd, 
Thus  I  said 
In  suspense: 
Nature  could  have  done  no  less, 
To  express 
Her  providence. 
Than  that  two  such  fair  worlds  might 
Have  two  suns  to  give  them  light. 

Anon. 
508 


RESTORATION  VERSE 
24/^.  The  Mistress 

A  N  age,  in  her  embraces  past, 
■*■  *■         Would  seem  a  winter's  day; 
Where  life  and  light,  with  envious  haste, 
Are  torn  and  snatched  away. 

But,  oh!  how  slowly  minutes  roll, 

When  absent  from  her  eyes; 
That  fed  my  love,  which  is  my  soul, 

It  languishes  and  dies. 

For  then,  no  more  a  soul  but  shade, 

It  mournfully  does  move; 
And  haunts  my  breast,  by  absence  made 

The  living  tomb  of  love. 

You  wiser  men  despise  me  not; 

Whose  love-sick  fancy  raves, 
On  shades  of  souls,  and  heaven  knows  what: 

Short  ages  live  in  graves. 

Whene'er  those  wounding  eyes,  so  full 

Of  sweetness  you  did  see. 
Had  you  not  been  profoundly  dull. 

You  had  gone  mad  like  me. 

Nor  censure  us,  you  who  perceive 

My  best-belov'd  and  me. 
Sigh  and  lament,  complain  and  grieve. 

You  think  we  disagree. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Alas!  'tis  sacred  jealousy, 

Love  raised  to  an  extreme; 
The  only  proof,  'twixt  them  and  me, 

We  love,  and  do  not  dream. 

Fantastic  fancies  fondly  move, 

And  in  frail  joys  believe: 
Taking  false  pleasure  for  true  love; 

But  pain  can  ne'er  deceive. 

Kind  jealous  doubts,  tormenting  fears, 

And  anxious  cares,  when  past. 
Prove  our  heart's  treasure  fixed  and  dear, 

And  make  us  bless'd  at  last. 

].    Wilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester 


2^5.  A  Song 

"|\ /FY  dear  mistress  has  a  heart 

^^  *-     Soft  as  those  kind  looks  she  gave  me; 

When  vpith  love's  resistless  art. 

And  her  eyes,  she  did  enslave  me. 
But  her  constancy's  so  weak 

She's  so  wild  and  apt  to  wander; 
That  my  jealous  heart  would  break, 

Should  we  live  one  day  asunder. 

Melting  joys  about  her  move, 

Killing  pleasures,  wounding  blisses; 

She  can  dress  her  eyes  in  love, 
And  her  lips  can  arm  with  kisses. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Angels  listen  when  she  speaks, 

She's  my  delight,  all  mankind's  wonder; 

But  my  jealous  heart  would  break, 
Should  we  live  one  day  asunder. 

J.    Wtlmot,  Earl  of  Rochester 


246.  Chloe's   Triumph 

T  SAID  to  my  heart,  between  sleeping  and  waking, 
-*•    'Thou  wild  thing,  that  always  art  leaping  or  aching, 
What  black,  brown,  or  fair,  in  what  clime,  in  what  nation, 
By  turns  has  not  taught  thee  a  pit-a-pat-ation  ?' 

Thus  accused,  the  wild  thing  gave  this  sober  reply: 
'See  the  heart  without  motion  though  Coelia  pass  by; 
Not  the  beauty  she  has,  nor  the  wit  that  she  borrows, 
Gives  the  eye  any  joys,  or  the  heart  any  sorrows. 

'When  our  Sappho  appears,  she  whose  wit  so  refined 
I  am  forced  to  applaud  with  the  rest  of  mankind, 
Whatever  she  says  is  with  spirit  and  fire; 
Every  word  I  attend— but  I  only  admire. 

'Prudentia  as  vainly  would  put  in  her  claim; 
Ever  gazing  on  heaven,  though  man  is  her  aim. 
'Tis  love,  not  devotion,  that  turns  up  her  eyes; 
Those  stars  of  this  world  are  too  good  for  the  skies. 

'But  Chloe  so  lively,  so  easy,  so  fair — 

Her  wit  so  genteel,  without  art,  without  care; 

5" 


THE  BOOK  OF 

When  she  comes  in  my  way,  the  motion,  the  pain, 
The  leapings,  the  achings,  return  all  again.' 

O  wonderful  creature!  a  woman  of  reason; 
Never  grave  out  of  pride,  never  gay  out  of  season. 
When  so  easy  to  guess  who  this  angel  should  be, 
Would  one  think  Mrs.  Howard  ne'er  dreamt  it  was  she  ? 
C.  Mordaiint,  Earl  of  Peterborough 


2^'j.  Roundelay 

/'~^HLOE  found  Amyntas  lying, 
^-^     All  in  tears,  upon  the  plain, 
Sighing  to  himself,  and  crying, 

'Wretched  I,  to  love  in  vain! 
Kiss  me,  dear,  before  my  dying; 

Kiss  me  once,  and  ease  my  pain.* 

Sighing  to  himself,  and  crying, 
'Wretched  I,  to  love  in  vain! 

Ever  scorning,  and  denying 

To  reward  your  faithful  swain: 

Kiss  me,  dear,  before  my  dying; 
Kiss  me  once   and  ease  my  pain! 

'Ever  scorning,  and  denying 
To  reward  your  faithful  swain.' 

Chloe,  laughing  at  his  crying. 
Told  him,  that  he  loved  in  vain. 

'  Kiss  me,  dear,  before  my  dying; 
Kiss  me  once,  and  ease  my  pain!' 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Chloe,  laughing  at  his  crying, 

Told  him  that  he  loved  in  vain; 
But  repenting,  and  complying. 

When  he  kissed,  she  kissed  again: 
Kissed  him  up  before  his  dying; 

Kissed  him  up,  and  eased  his  pain. 

/.  Dryden 


^48.  Phillis  Knotting 

T  TEARS  not  my  Phillis  how  the  birds 
-'-  -*-        Their  feathered  mates  salute  ? 
They  tell  their  passion  in  their  words: 
Must  I  alone  be  mute  ?' 

Phillis,  without  frown  or  smile. 
Sat  and  knotted  all  the  while. 

'The  god  of  love  in  thy  bright  eyes, 

Does  like  a  tyrant  reign; 
But  in  thy  heart  a  child  he  lies 
Without  his  dart  or  flame.' 

Phillis,  without  frown  or  smile, 
Sat  and  knotted  all  the  while. 


'So  many  months  in  silence  past, 

And  yet  in  raging  love, 
Might  well  deserve  one  word  at  last 
My  passion  should  approve.' 
Phillis,  without  frown  or  smile, 
Sat  and  knotted  all  the  while. 


513 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Must  then  your  faithful  swain  expire 

And  not  one  look  obtain, 
Which  he  to  soothe  his  fond  desire 
Might  pleasingly  explain  ?' 

Phillis,  without  frown  or  smile, 
Sat  and  knotted  all  the  while! 

Sir  C.  Sedley 


24g.  Ode 

T^AIR  Isabel,  if  ought  but  thee 

•*-        I  could,  or  would,  or  like,  or  love; 

If  other  beauties  but  approve 
To  sweeten  my  captivity: 

I  might  those  passions  be  above. 

Those  powerful  passions  that  combine 
To  make  and  keep  me  only  thine. 

Or,  if  for  tempting  treasure  I 

Of  the  world's  god,  prevailing  gold, 
Could  see  thy  love,  and  my  truth  sold, 
A  greater,  nobler  treasury; 

My  flame  to  thee  might  then  grow  cold. 
And  I,  like  one  whose  love  is  sense, 
Exchange  thee  for  convenience. 

But  when  I  vow  to  thee,  I  do 

Love  thee  above  or  health  or  peace, 
Gold,  joy,  and  all  such  toys  as  these, 

'Bove  happiness  and  honour  too: 

Thou  then  must  know,  this  love  can  cease 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Nor  change,  for  all  the  glorious  show 
Wealth  and  discretion  bribes  us  to. 

What  such  a  love  deserves,  thou,  sweet, 
As  knowing  best,  may'st  best  reward; 
I  for  thy  bounty  well  prepared. 
With  open  arms  my  blessing  meet. 
Then  do  not,  dear,  our  joys  detard; 
But  unto  him  propitious  be. 
That  knows  no  love,  nor  life,  but  thee. 

C.  Cotton 


250.  Song 

JOIN  once  again,  my  Celia,  join 
Thy  rosy  lips  to  these  of  mine, 
Which,  though  they  be  not  such, 
Are  full  as  sensible  of  bliss. 
That  is,  as  soon  can  taste  a  kiss, 
As  thine  of  softer  touch. 

Each  kiss  of  thine  creates  desire. 

Thy  odorous  breath  inflames  Love's  fire, 

And  wakes  the  sleeping  coal: 
Such  a  kiss  to  be  I  find 
The  conversation  of  the  mind. 

And  whisper  of  the  soul. 

Thanks,  sweetest,  now  thou'rt  perfect  grown, 
For  by  this  last  kiss  I'm  undone; 
Thou  breathest  silent  darts. 

5^5 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Henceforth  each  little  touch  will  prove 
A  dangerous  stratagem  in  love, 
And  thou  wilt  blow  up  hearts. 


C.  Cotton 


2^1.  ■  Song 

IV  TOT,  Celia,  that  I  juster  am 
•^  ^      Or  better  than  the  rest; 
For  I  would  change  each  hour  like  them, 
Were  not  my  heart  at  rest. 


But  I  am  tied  to  very  thee 
By  every  thought  I  have; 

Thy  face  I  only  care  to  see. 
Thy  heart  I  only  crave. 


All  that  in  woman  is  adored 
In  thy  dear  self  I  find; 

For  the  whole  sex  can  but  afford 
The  handsome  and  the  kind. 


Why  then  should  I  seek  further  store. 

And  still  make  love  anew  ? 
When  change  itself  can  give  no  more 

'Tis  easy  to  be  true. 

Sir  C.  SedJcy 


RESTORATION  VERSE 
252.  To  a  Lady 

Asking  how  long  he  would  love  Her 


I 


T  is  not,  Cflia,  in  our  power 

To  say  how  long  our  love  will  last; 
It  may  be  we  within  this  hour 

May  lose  those  joys  we  now  do  taste: 
The  blessed,  that  immortal  be, 
From  change  in  love  are  only  free. 

Then  since  we  mortal  lovers  are, 

Ask  not  how  long  our  love  may  last; 

But  while  it  does,  let  us  take  care 
Each  minute  be  with  pleasure  pass'd: 

Were  it  not  madness  to  deny 

To  live  because  we're  sure  to  die  ? 

Sir  G.  Ether ege 


253'  Song 

T3HILLIS,  for  shame,  let  us  improve 
■^        A  thousand  different  ways 
Those  few  short  moments  snatched  by  love 
From  many  tedious  days. 

If  you  want  courage  to  despise 

The  censure  of  the  grave, 
Though  love's  a  tyrant  in  your  eyes 
Your  heart  is  but  a  slave. 


FHE  BOOK  OF 

My  love  is  full  of  noble  pride, 

Nor  can  it  e'er  submit 
To  let  that  fop,  Discretion,  ride 

In  triumph  over  it. 

False  friends  I  have,  as  well  as  you, 

Who  daily  counsel  me 
Fame  and  ambition  to  pursue, 

And  leave  off  loving  thee. 

But  when  the  least  regard  I  show 

To  fools  who  thus  advise. 
May  I  be  dull  enough  to  grow 

Most  miserably  wise. 

C.  Sackvillc,  Earl  of  Dorset 


254'  ^ong 

T)HILLIS,  men  say  that  all  my  vows 
^        Are  to  thy  fortune  paid: 
Alas!  my  heart  he  little  knows 
Who  thinks  my  love  a  trade. 

Were  I  of  all  these  woods  the  lord. 
One  berry  from  thy  hand 

More  real  pleasure  would  afford 
Than  all  my  large  command. 

My  humble  love  has  learned  to  live 
On  what  the  nicest  maid, 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Without  a  conscious  blush,  may  give 
Beneath  the  myrtle  shade. 

Sir  C.  Sedley 

255,  Song 

T    ADIES,  though  to  your  conquering  eyes 
*^^     Love  owes  his  chiefest  victories, 
And  borrows  those  bright  arms  from  you 
With  which  he  does  the  world  subdue, 
Yet  you  yourselves  are  not  above 
The  empire  nor  the  griefs  of  love. 

Then  rack  not  lovers  with  disdain, 
Lest  Love  on  you  revenge  their  pain; 
You  are  not  free  because  you're  fair: 
The  Boy  did  not  his  Mother  spare. 
Beauty's  but  an  offensive  dart: 
It  is  no  armour  for  the  heart. 

Sir  George  Ether ege 


2^6.  Written  on  a  fFhite  Fan  Borrowed 
From  Miss  Osborne,  Afterwards 
His  Wife 

"PPLAVIA  the  least  and  slighted  toy 
-*-      Can  with  resistless  art  employ: 
This  fan  in  meaner  hands  would  prove 
An  engine  of  small  force  in  love; 
Yet  she  with  graceful  air  and  mien, 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Not  to  be  told  or  safely  seen, 

Directs  its  wanton  motions  so 

That  il  wounds  more  than  Cupid's  bow; 

Gives  coolness  to  the  matchless  dame, 

To  every  other  breast— a  flame. 

F.  Atterbury,  Bishop  of  Rochester 

2S7'  Song 

T~\ORINDA'S  sparkling  wit  and  eyes 
^-^     United  cast  too  fierce  a  light, 
Which  blazes  high,  but  quickly  dies, 
Pains  not  the  heart,  but  hurts  the  sight. 

Love  is  a  calmer,  gentler  joy. 

Smooth  are  his  looks,  and  soft  his  pace, 

Her  Cupid  is  a  blackguard  boy. 

That  runs  his  link  full  in  your  face. 

C.   Sackville,  Earl  of  Dorset 

2^8.  Laura  Sleeping 

\  A  riNDS,  whisper  gently  whilst  she  sleeps, 

*  *  And  fan  her  with  your  cooling  wings; 

While  she  her  drops  of  beauty  weeps, 
From  pure,  and  yet  unrivalled  springs. 

Glide  over  Beauty's  field,  her  face. 
To  kiss  her  lip  and  cheek  be  bold; 

But  with  a  calm  and  stealing  pace; 
Neither  too  rude,  nor  yet  too  cold. 
520 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Play  in  her  beams,  and  crisp  her  hair 
With  such  a  gale  as  wings  soft  Love, 

^nd  with  so  sweet,  so  rich  an  air, 
As  breathes  from  the  Arabian  grove. 

A  breath  as  hushed  as  lover's  sigh; 

Or  that  unfolds  the  morning's  door: 
Sweet  as  the  winds  that  gently  fly 

To  sweep  the  Spring's  enamelled  floor. 

Murmur  soft  music  to  her  dreams, 
That  pure  and  unpolluted  run 

Like  to  the  new-born  crystal  streams. 
Under  the  bright  enamoured  sun. 

But  when  she  walking  shall  display, 
Her  light,  retire  within  your  bar; 

Her  breath  is  life,  her  eyes  are  day. 
And  all  mankind  her  creatures  are. 


C.  Cotton 


2^g.  On  Lydia  Distracted 


\\TITH  hairs,  which  for  the  wind  to  play  with,  hung, 
*  *       With  her  torn  garments,  and  with  naked  feet. 
Fair  Lydia  dancing  went  from  street  to  street. 
Singing  with  pleasant  voice  her  foolish  song. 

On  her  she  drew  all  eyes  in  every  place. 
And  them  to  pity  by  her  pranks  did  move. 
Which  turn'd  with  gazing  longer  into  Love 

By  the  rare  beauty  of  her  charming  face. 

521 


THE  BOOK  OF 

In  all  her  frenzies,  and  her  mimicries. 
While  she  did  Nature's  richest  gifts  despise. 

There  active  Love  did  subt'ly  play  his  part.      , 
Her  antic  postures  made  her  look  more  gay, 
Her  ragged  clothes  her  treasures  did  display. 

And  with  each  motion  she  ensnared  a  heart. 

P.  Ayr 


260.  On  a  Fair  Beggar 

TDAREFOOT  and  ragged,  with  neglected  hair, 
-*-^    She  whom  the  Heavens  at  once  made  poor  and  fair, 
With  humble  voice  and  moving  words  did  stay. 
To  beg  an  alms  of  all  who  passed  that  way. 

But  thousands  viewing  her  became  her  prize, 
Willingly  yielding  to  her  conquering  eyes, 

And  caught  by  her  bright  hairs,  whilst  careless  she 
Makes  them  pay  homage  to  her  poverty. 

So  mean  a  boon,  said  I,  what  can  extort 

From  that  fair  mouth,  where  wanton  Love  to  sport 

Amidst  the  pearls  and  rubies  we  behold  t 
Nature  on  thee  has  all  her  treasures  spread. 
Do  but  incline  thy  rich  and  precious  head. 

And  those  fair  locks  shall  pour  down  showers  of  gold. 

P.  Ayres 


$22 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

261.       A  Lady  to  a    Young   Courtier 

T  OVE  thee!  good  sooth,  not  I! 
-'— '  I've  somewhat  else  to  do; 
Alas,  you  must  go  learn  to  talk, 

Before  you  learn  to  woo. 

Nay,  fie!  stand  off,  go  to! 

Because  you're  in  the  fashion, 

And  newly  come  to  Court; 
D'ye  think,  your  clothes  are  orators 

T'  invite  us  to  the  sport  ? 

Ha,  Ha!  Who  will  not  jeer  thee  for't. 

Ne'er  look  so  sweetly,  youth, 

Nor  fiddle  with  your  band; 
We  know,  you  trim  your  borrowed  curls 

To  show  your  pretty  hand. 

But  'tis  too  young  for  to  command. 

Go,  practise  how  to  jeer; 
And  think  each  word  a  jest; 

That's  the  Court  wit.  Alas,  you're  out, 
To  think  when  finely  drest. 
You  please  me,  or  the  ladies,  best. 

Mark,  how  Sir  Whacham  fools; 

Aye,  marry,  there's  a  wit! 
Who  cares  not  what  he  says,  or  swears; 

So  ladies  laugh  at  it; 

Who  can  deny  such  blades  a  bit! 

Dr.  H.  Hughes 

5-3 


THE  BOOK  OF 

262.      When  I  a  Lover  Pale  Do  See 

T  X  THEN  I  a  lover  pale  do  see 

•  *        Ready  to  faint  and  sickish  be, 
With  hollow  eyes,  and  cheeks  so  thin 
As  all  his  face  is  nose  and  chin; 
When  such  a  ghost  I  see  in  pain 
Because  he  is  not  loved  again, 
And  pale  and  faint  and  sigh  and  cry — 
Oh  there's  your  loving  fool!  say  I. 

'Tis  love  with  love  should  be  repaid 
And  equally  on  both  sides  laid; 
Love  is  a  load  a  horse  would  kill 
If  it  do  hang  on  one  side  still; 
But  if  he  needs  will  be  so  fond 
As  rules  of  reason  go  beyond, 
And  love  where  he's  not  loved  again, 
Faith,  let  him  take  it  for  his  pain. 


Am 


26^.  Song 

Written  at  Sea,  in  the  First  Dutch  War  (1665),  the 
night  before  an  Engagement 

''  I  ^O  all  you  ladies  now  at  hand 

-'•       We  men  at  sea  indite; 
But  first  would  have  you  understand 
How  hard  it  is  to  write: 

524 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  Muses  now,  and  Neptune  too, 
We  must  implore  to  write  to  you 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

For  though  the  Muses  should  prove  kind, 

And  fill  our  empty  brain, 
Yet  if  rough  Neptune  rouse  the  wind 

To  wave  the  azure  main. 
Our  paper,  pen,  and  ink,  and  we, 
Roll  up  and  down  our  ships  at  sea — 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

Then  if  we  write  not  by  each  post, 

Think  not  we  are  unkind; 
Nor  yet  conclude  our  ships  are  lost 

By  Dutchmen  or  by  wind: 
Our  tears  we'll  send  a  speedier  way. 
The  tide  shall  bring  them  twice  a  day — 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

The  King  with  wonder  and  surprise 
Will  swear  the  seas  grow  bold, 

Because  the  tides  will  higher  rise 
Than  e'er  they  did  of  old: 

But  let  him  know  it  is  our  tears 

Bring  floods  of  grief  to  Whitehall  stairs — 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

Should  foggy  Opdam  chance  to  know 

Our  sad  and  dismal  story, 
The  Dutch  would  scorn  so  weak  a  foe. 

And  quit  their  fort  at  Goree: 


THE  BOOK  OF 

For  what  resistance  can  they  find 
From  men  who've  left  their  hearts  behind  ?- 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

Let  wind  and  weather  do  its  worst. 

Be  you  to  us  but  kind; 
Let  Dutchmen  vapour,  Spaniards  curse, 

No  sorrow  we  shall  find: 
'Tis  then  no  matter  how  things  go. 
Or  who's  our  friend,  or  who's  our  foe — 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

To  pass  our  tedious  hours  away 

We  throw  a  merry  main, 
Or  else  at  serious  ombre  play; 

But  why  should  we  in  vain 
Each  other's  ruin  thus  pursue  ? 
We  were  undone  when  we  left  you — 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

But  now  our  fears  tempestuous  grow 

And  cast  our  hopes  away; 
Whilst  you,  regardless  of  our  woe, 

Sit  careless  at  a  play: 
Perhaps  permit  some  happier  man 
To  kiss  your  hand,  or  flirt  your  fan — 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

When  any  mournful  tune  you  hear, 

That  dies  in  every  note 
As  if  it  sighed  with  each  man's  care 

For  being  so  remote, 
526 


RESTORAllON  VERSE 

Think  then  how  often  love  we've  made 
To  you,  when  all  those  tunes  were  played — 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

In  justice  you  cannot  refuse 

To  think  of  our  distress. 
When  we  for  hopes  of  honour  lose 

Our  certain  happiness: 
All  those  designs  are  but  to  prove 
Ourselves  more  worthy  of  your  love — 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

And  now  we've  told  you  all  our  loves, 

And  likewise  all  our  fears, 
In  hopes  this  declaration  moves 

Some  pity  for  our  tears: 
Let's  hear  of  no  inconstancy— 
We  have  too  much  of  that  at  sea — 
With  a  fa,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

C.   SackviUc,   Earl  of  Dorset 

26^.  Song 

OOME  thirty  or  forty  or  fifty  at  least, 
*^       Or  more,  I  have  loved  in  vain,  in  vain, 
But  if  you'll  vouchsafe  to  receive  a  poor  guest. 
For  once  I  will  venture  again,  again. 

How  long  I  shall  be  in  this  mind,  this  mind. 

Is  totally  in  your  own  power; 
All  my  days  I  can  pass  with  the  kind,  the  kind, 

But  I'll  part  with  the  proud  in  an  hour. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Then  if  you'll  be  good-natured  and  civil,  and  civil, 

You'll  find  I  can  be  so  too,  so  too; 
But  if  not  you  may  go,  you  may  go  to  the  devil, 

Or  the  devil  may  come  to  you,  to  you. 

r.  D'Urfey 


26^.  A  Scotch  Song 

JOCKY  was  a  dowdy  lad, 
And  Jemmy  swarth  and  tawny; 
They,  my  heart  no  captive  made, 

For  that  was  prize  to  Swaney. 
Jocky  wooes,  and  sighs,  and  sues: 
And  Jemmy  offers  money: 
Weel,  I  see,  they  both  love  me — 
But  I  love  only  Swaney. 

Jocky  high  his  voice  can  raise: 

And  Jemmy  tunes  the  viol: 
But  when  Swaney  pipes  sweet  lays, 

My  heart  kens  no  denial. 
Yen  he  sings,  and  t'  other  strings. 

Though  sweet,  yet  only  teize  me; 
Swaney's  flute  can  only  do  't. 
And  pipe  a  tune  to  please  me. 

T.  D'Urfey 


528 


RKSTORAllON  VERSE 
266.    Ladies,  Farewell,  I  Must  Retire 

T    ADIES,  farewell,  I  must  retire: 
■*--'     Though  I  your  faces  all  admire 
And  think  you  heavens  in  your  kinds, 
Some  for  beauties,  some  for  minds; 
If  I  stay  and  fall  in  love. 
One  of  these  heavens  hell  would  prove. 

Could  I  know  one  and  she  not  know  it, 
Perhaps  I  then  might  undergo  it; 
But  if  the  least  she  guess  my  mind. 
Straight  in  a  circle  I'm  confined: 
By  this  I  see  who  once  doth  dote 
Must  wear  a  woman's  livery  coat. 

Therefore,  this  danger  to  prevent, 
And  still  to  keep  my  heart's  content. 
Into  the  country  I'll  with  speed. 
With  hounds  and  hawks  my  fancy  feed: 
Both  safer  pleasures  to  pursue 
Than  staying  to  converse  with  you. 


/.   Howard 


26y.  Chloe  Divine 

/~^HLOE  's  a  Nymph  in  flowery  groves, 
^-^     A  Nereid  in  the  streams; 
Saint-like  she  in  the  temple  moves, 
A  woman  in  my  dreams. 

529 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Love  steals  artillery  from  her  eyes, 

The  Graces  point  her  charms; 
Orpheus  is  rivalled  in  her  voice, 

And  Venus  in  her  arms. 

Never  so  happily  in  one 

Did  heaven  and  earth  combine; 
And  yet  'tis  flesh  and  blood  alone 

That  makes  her  so  divine. 

r.  D'Urfey 


268.  The  Fair  Stranger 

HAPPY  and  free,  securely  blest, 
No  beauty  could  disturb  my  rest; 
My  amorous  heart  was  in  despair, 
To  find  a  new  victorious  fair: 

Till  you,  descending  on  our  plains. 
With  foreign  force  renew  my  chains; 
Where  now  you  rule  without  control, 
The  mighty  sovereign  of  my  soul. 

Your  smiles  have  more  of  conquering  charms 
Than  all  your  native  country's  arms: 
Their  troops  we  can  expel  with  ease, 
Who  vanquish  only  when  we  please. 

But  in  your  eyes,  oh,  there's  the  spell! 
Who  can  see  them,  and  not  rebel .'' 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

You  make  us  captives  by  your  stay, 
Yet  kill  us  if  you  go  away. 

/.  Dryden 

26g.  Song 

'\\JWY,  dearest,  shouldst  thou  weep,  when  I  relate 

*  *  The  story  of  my  woe  ? 

Let  not  the  swarthy  mists  of  my  black  fate 
O'ercast  thy  beauty  so; 
For  each  rich  pearl  lost  on  that  score 
Adds  to  mischance,  and  wounds  your  servant  more. 

Quench  not  those  stars  that  to  my  bliss  should  guide; 

Oh,  spare  that  precious  tear! 
Nor  let  those  drops  unto  a  deluge  tide, 

To  drown  your  beauty  there; 
That  cloud  of  sorrow  makes  it  night; 
You  lose  your  lustre,  but  the  world  its  light. 


C.  Cotton 


zjo.  To   Coelia 

T  ^THEN,  Coelia,  must  my  old  day  set, 
•  *        And  my  young  morning  rise 
In  beams  of  joy  so  bright  as  yet 

Ne'er  bless'd  a  lover's  eyes  .'' 
My  state  is  more  advanced  than  when 

I  first  attempted  thee: 
I  sued  to  be  a  servant  then. 

But  now  to  be  made  free. 


531 


IHE  BOOK  OF 

I've  served  my  time  faithful  and  true, 

Expecting  to  be  placed 
In  happy  freedom,  as  my  due, 

To  all  the  joys  thou  hast: 
111  husbandry  in  love  is  such 

A  scandal  to  love's  power, 
We  ought  not  to  misspend  so  much 

As  one  poor  short-lived  hour. 

Yet  think  not,  sweet,  I'm  weary  grown, 

That  I  pretend  such  haste; 
Since  none  to  surfeit  e'er  was  known 

Before  he  had  a  taste: 
My  infant  love  could  humbly  wait 

When,  young,  it  scarce  knew  how 
To  plead;  but  grown  to  man's  estate. 

He  is  impatient  now. 


C.  Cottoti 


jyi.  A  Song 

A   BSENT  from  thee  I  languish  still, 
-^   *-     Then  ask  me  not.  When  I  return  .? 
The  straying  fool  'twill  plainly  kill 
To  wish  all  day,  all  night  to  mourn. 

Dear,  from  thine  arms  then  let  me  fly. 
That  my  fantastic  mind  may  prove 

The  torments  it  deserves  to  try. 

That  tears  my  fix'd  heart  from  my  love. 

53-2 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

When,  wearied  with  a  world  of  woe, 

To  thy  safe  bosom  I  retire, 
Where  love,  and  peace,  and  truth  does  flow. 

May  I,  contented,  there  expire. 

Lest  once  more  wandering  from  that  heaven, 

I  fall  on  some  base  heart  unblest. 
Faithless  to  thee,  false,  unforgiven, 

And  lose  my  everlasting  rest. 

J .    Wilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester 


2']2.  The  Song  of  Venus 

TI^AIREST  isle,  all  isles  excelling, 

-*-         Seat  of  pleasures  and  of  love; 

Venus  here  will  choose  her  dwelling. 

And  forsake  her  Cyprian  groves. 

Cupid  from  his  favourite  nation 
Care  and  envy  will  remove; 

Jealousy,  that  poisons  passion, 
And  despair,  that  dies  for  love. 

Gentle  murmurs,  sweet  complaining, 
Sighs  that  blow  the  fire  of  love; 

Soft  repulses,  kind  disdaining, 
Shall  be  all  the  pains  you  prove. 


533 


THE  BOOK  OF, 

Every  swain  shall  pay  his  duty, 
Grateful  every  nymph  shall  prove; 

And  as  these  excel  in  beauty, 

Those  shall  be  renowned  for  love. 


275.  Daniilcar's  Song 

A  H,  how  sweet  it  is  to  love! 
■*^-     Ah,  how  gay  is  young  Desire! 
And  what  pleasing  pains  we  prove 

When  we  first  approach  Love's  fire! 
Pains  of  love  be  sweeter  far 
Than  all  other  pleasures  are. 

Sighs  which  are  from  lovers  blown 
Do  but  gently  heave  the  heart: 

Ev'n  the  tears  they  shed  alone 

Cure,  like  trickling  balm,  their  smart; 

LoverSj  when  they  lose  their  breath, 

Bleed  away  in  easy  death. 

Love  and  Time  with  reverence  use, 
Treat  them  like  a  parting  friend; 

Nor  the  golden  gifts  refuse 

Which  in  youth  sincere  they  send: 

For  each  year  their  price  is  more, 

And  they  less  simple  than  before. 

Love  like  spring-tides  full  and  high. 
Swells  in  every  youthful  vein; 
534 


J .  Dryden 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  each  tide  does  less  supply, 

Till  they  quite  shrink  in  again: 
If  a  flow  in  age  appear, 
'Tis  but  rain,  and  runs  not  clear. 


/.  Dryden 


2'j/f.      May  the  Ambitious  Ever  Find 

1\  /TAY  the  ambitious  ever  find 
'*'*'*■      Success  in  crowds  and  noise, 
While  gentler  love  does  fill  my  mind 
With  silent  real  joys! 

May  knaves  and  fools  grow  rich  and  great, 

And  the  world  think  them  wise. 
While  I  lie  dying  at  her  feet 

And  all  the  world  despise. 

Let  conquering  kings  new  triumphs  raise 

And  melt  in  court  delights; 
Her  eyes  can  give  much  brighter  days, 

Her  arms  much  softer  nights. 

C.  Sackville,  Earl  of  Dorset 

2y^.  Song 

Sung  to  a  Minuet 

T  TOW  happy  the  lover, 
^   '■      How  easy  his  chain, 
How  pleasing  his  pain; 

535 


THE  BOOK  OF 

How  sweet  to  discover 
He  sighs  not  in  vain. 
For  love,  every  creature 
Is  formed  by  his  nature; 
No  joys  are  above 
The  pleasures  of  Love. 

In  vain  are  our  graces, 
In  vain  are  your  eyes. 
If  love  you  despise. 

When  age  furrows  faces, 
'Tis  time  to  be  wise. 

Then,  use  the  short  blessing 

That  flies  in  possessing; 
No  joys  are  above 
The  pleasures  of  Love. 


J .  Drydert 


2j6.  Song 

T  N  vain,  Clemene,  you  bestow 

-*-      The  promised  empire  of  your  heart 

If  you  refuse  to  let  me  know 

The  wealthy  charms  of  every  part. 

My  passion  with  your  kindness  grew, 
Tho'  beauty  gave  the  first  desire: 

But  beauty  only  to  pursue 
Is  following  a  wand'ring  fire. 
53^> 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

As  hills  in  perspective  suppress 

The  free  enquiry  of  the  sight; 
Restraint  makes  every  pleasure  less 

And  takes  from  love  the  full  delight. 

Faint  kisses  may  in  part  supply 

Those  eager  longings  of  my  soul; 
But  oh!  I'm  lost  if  you  deny 

A  quick  possession  of  the  whole. 

C.   Sackville,  Earl  of  Dorset 

277.      To   One  Persuading  a  Lady   to 
Marriage 

"rpORBEAR,  bold  youth;  all's  heaven  here, 
■'-         And  what  you  do  aver 
To  others  courtship  may  appear, 

'Tis  sacrilege  to  her. 
She  is  a  public  deity; 

And  were  't  not  very  odd 
She  should  dispose  herself  to  be 

A  petty  household  god  ? 

First  make  the  sun  in  private  shine 

And  bid  the  world  adieu, 
That  so  he  may  his  beams  confine 

In  compliment  to  you: 
But  if  of  that  you  do  despair, 

Think  how  you  did  amiss 
To  strive  to  fix  her  beams  which  are 

More  bright  and  large  than  his. 

K.   (Orinda)  Philips 


THE  BOOK  OF 

2^8.  Song 

MORE  love  or  more  disdain  I  crave; 
Sweet,  be  not  still  indifferent: 
O  send  me  quickly  to  my  grave, 

Or  else  afford  me  more  content. 
Or  love  or  hate  me  more  or  less, 
For  love  abhors  all  lukev^^armness. 

Give  me  a  tempest  if  'twill  drive 
Me  to  the  place  where  I  would  be; 

Or  if  you'll  have  me  still  alive, 
Confess  you  will  be  kind  to  me. 

Give  hopes  of  bliss  or  dig  my  grave: 

More  love  or  more  disdain  I  crave. 


27 g.  Phillida  Flouts  Me 

OWHAT  a  plague  is  love! 
How  shall  I  bear  it  ? 
She  will  inconstant  prove, 

I  greatly  fear  it. 
She  so  torments  my  mind 

That  my  strength  faileth. 
And  wavers  with  the  wind 

As  a  ship  saileth. 
Please  her  the  best  I  may, 
She  loves  still  to  gainsay; 
Alack  and  well-a-day! 
Phillada  flouts  me. 


C.   Wehhe 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

At  the  fair  yesterday 

She  did  pass  by  me; 
She  look'd  another  way 

And  would  not  spy  me: 
I  woo'd  her  for  to  dine, 

But  could  not  get  her; 
Will  had  her  to  the  Vine — 

He  might  entreat  her. 
With  Daniel  she  did  dance, 
On  me  she  look'd  askance: 

0  thrice  unhappy  chance! 

Phillada  flouts  me. 

Fair  maid,  be  not  so  coy, 
Do  not  disdain  me! 

1  am  my  mother's  joy: 
Sweet,  entertain  me! 

She'll  give  me,  when  she  dies, 

All  that  is  fitting: 
Her  poultry  and  her  bees, 

And  her  geese  sitting, 
A  pair  of  mattrass  beds. 
And  a  bag  full  of  shreds; 
And  yet,  for  all  this  guedes, 
Phillada  flouts  me! 

She  hath  a  clout  of  mine 
Wrought  with  blue  Coventry, 

Which  she  keeps  for  a  sign 
Of  my  fidelity: 

But  i'  faith,  if  she  flinch 
She  shall  not  wear  it; 


539 


THE  BOOK  OF 

To  Tib,  my  t'other  wench, 

I  mean  to  bear  it. 
And  yet  it  grieves  my  heart 
So  soon  from  her  to  part: 
Death  strike  me  with  his  dart! 
Phillada  flouts  me. 

Thou  shalt  eat  curds  and  cream 

All  the  year  lasting, 
And  drink  the  crystal  stream 

Pleasant  in  tasting; 
Whig  and  whey  whilst  thou  lust, 

And  ramble-berries, 
Pie-lid  and  pastry-crust. 

Pears,  plums,  and  cherries. 
Thy  raiment  shall  be  thin, 
Made  of  a  weaver's  skin — 
Yet  all's  not  worth  a  pin! 
Phillada  flouts  me. 

In  the  last  month  of  May 

I  made  her  posies; 
I  heard  her  often  say 

That  she  loved  roses. 
Cowslips  and  gillyflowers 

And  the  white  lily 
I  brought  to  deck  the  bowers 

For  my  sweet  Philly. 
But  she  did  all  disdain. 
And  threw  them  back  again 
Therefore  'tis  flat  and  plain 
Phillada  flouts  me. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Fair  maiden,  have  a  care, 

And  in  time  take  me; 
I  can  have  those  as  fair 

If  you  forsake  me: 
For  Doll  the  dairy-maid 

Laugh'd  at  me  lately. 
And  wanton  Winifred 

Favours  me  greatly. 
One  throws  milk  on  my  clothes. 
T'other  plays  with  my  nose; 
What  wanting  signs  are  those  ? 
Phillada  flouts  me. 

I  cannot  work  nor  sleep 

At  all  in  season: 
Love  wounds  my  heart  so  deep 

Without  all  reason. 
I  'gin  to  pine  away 

With  grief  and  sorrow, 
Like  as  a  fat  beast  may, 

Penn'd  in  a  meadow. 
I  shall  be  dead,  I  fear. 
Within  this  thousand  year: 
And  all  for  that  my  dear 
Phillada  flouts  me. 


541 


THE  BOOK  OF 

280.  Song 

"OHILLIS  is  my  only  joy, 
-*-        Faithless  as  the  winds  or  seas, 
Sometimes  coming,  sometimes  coy, 
Yet  she  never  fails  to  please; 

If  with  a  frown 

I  am  cast  down, 

Phillis  smiling 

And  beguiling 
Makes  me  happier  than  before. 

Though  alas!  too  late  I  find 
Nothing  can  her  fancy  fix. 
Yet  the  moment  she  is  kind 
I  forgive  her  all  her  tricks; 
Which  though  I  see, 
I  can't  get  free. 
She  deceiving, 
I  believing, 
What  need  lovers  wish  for  more  ? 

Sir  C.  Sedley 

281.  Song 

T    FEED  a  flame  within,  which  so  torments  me 

-*-       That  it  both  pains  my  heart,  and  yet  contents  me; 

'Tis  such  a  pleasing  smart,  and  I  so  love  it. 

That  I  had  rather  die  than  once  remove  it. 

Yet  he,  for  whom  I  grieve,  shall  never  know  it; 
My  tongue  does  not  betray,  nor  my  eyes  show  it. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Not  a  sigh,  nor  a  tear,  my  pain  discloses, 
But  they  fall  silently,  like  dew  on  roses. 

Thus,  to  prevent  my  Love  from  being  cruel, 
My  heart  's  the  sacrifice,  as  'tis  the  fuel; 
And  while  I  suffer  this  to  give  him  quiet. 
My  faith  rewards  my  love,  though  he  deny  it. 

On  his  eyes  will  I  gaze,  and  there  delight  me; 
While  I  conceal  my  love  no  frown  can  fright  me. 
To  be  more  happy  I  dare  not  aspire. 
Nor  can  I  fall  more  low,  mounting  no  higher. 

/.  Dryden 


282.  A  Song 

XIJ^AIR,  sweet  and  young,  receive  a  prize 
-*-        Reserved  for  your  victorious  eyes: 
From  crowds,  whom  at  your  feet  you  see, 
O  pity,  and  distinguish  me! 
As  I  from  thousand  beauties  more 
Distinguish  you,  and  only  you  adore. 

Your  face  for  conquest  was  designed. 
Your  every  motion  charms  my  mind; 
Angels,  when  you  your  silence  break. 
Forget  their  hymns,  to  hear  you  speak; 
But  when  at  once  they  hear  and  view. 
Are  loth  to  mount,  and  long  to  stay  with  you. 

543 


THE  BOOK  OF 

No  graces  can  your  form  improve, 
But  all  are  lost,  unless  you  love; 
While  that  sweet  passion  you  disdain, 
Your  veil  and  beauty  are  in  vain; 
In  pity  then  prevent  my  fate, 
For  after  dying  all  reprieve's  too  late. 


y.  Dryden 


28^.  Song 

"VT'OU  charmed  me  not  with  that  fair  face, 

-^       Though  it  was  all  divine: 
To  be  another's  is  the  grace 

That  makes  me  wish  you  mine. 
The  gods  and  fortune  take  their  part 

Who,  like  young  monarchs,  fight. 
And  boldly  dare  invade  that  heart 

Which  is  another's  right. 
First,  mad  with  hope,  we  undertake 

To  pull  up  every  bar; 
But,  once  possessed,  we  faintly  make 

A  dull  defensive  war. 
Now,  every  friend  is  turned  a  foe, 

In  hope  to  get  our  store: 
And  passion  makes  us  cowards  grow. 

Which  made  us  brave  before. 

J .  Dryden 


544 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

284.  Song 

Betwixt  a  Shepherd  and  a  Shepherdess 


Shepherdess 
'T^ELL  me,  Thyrsis,  tell  your  anguish, 
-*■      Why  you  sigh,  and  why  you  languish; 
When  the  nymph  whom  you  adore 
Grants  the  blessing 
Of  possessing, 
What  can  love  and  I  do  more  ? 

Shepherd 
Think  it's  love  beyond  all  measure 
Makes  me  faint  away  with  pleasure; 
Strength  of  cordial  may  destroy, 
And  the  blessing 
Of  possessing 
Kills  me  with  excess  of  joy. 

Shepherdess 
Thyrsis,  how  can  I  believe  you  ? 
But  confess,  and  I'll  forgive  you: 
Men  are  false,  and  so  are  you. 
Never  Nature 
Framed  a  creature 
To  enjoy,  and  yet  be  true. 

Shepherd 
Mine's  a  flame  beyond  expiring, 
Still  possessing,  still  desiring, 

545 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Fit  for  Love's  imperial  crown; 

Ever  shining 

And  refining 
Still  the  more  'tis  melted  down. 

Chorus 
Mine's  a  flame  beyond  expiring, 
Still  possessing,  still  desiring, 
Fit  for  Love's  imperial  crown; 
Ever  shining 
And  refining 
Still  the  more  'tis  melted  down. 


28^.  Song 


J.  Dryden 


"T^EAR,  from  thine  arms  then  let  me  fly, 
-*-^     That  my  fantastic  mind  may  prove 
The  torments  it  deserves  to  try. 

That  tears  my  fixed  heart  from  my  love. 

When  wearied  with  a  world  of  woe 

To  thy  safe  bosom  I  retire. 
Where  love,  and  peace,  and  truth,  do  flow, 

May  I  contented  there  expire! 

Lest,  once  more  wandering  from  that  heaven, 

I  fall  on  some  base  heart  unblest. 
Faithless  to  thee,  false,  unforgiven. 

And  lose  my  everlasting  rest. 

J.    WiJmot,  Earl  of  Rochester 


RESTORAIION  VERSE 

Phyllis's  Resolution 

■\  1  THEN  slaves  their  liberty  require, 

*  *       They  hope  no  more  to  gain; 
But  you  not  only  that  desire. 
But  ask  the  power  to  reign. 

Think  how  unjust  a  suit  you  make, 

Then  you  will  soon  decline; 
Your  freedom,  when  you  please,  pray  take, 

But  trespass  not  on  mine. 

No  more  in  vain,  Alcander,  crave; 

I  ne'er  will  grant  the  thing. 
That  he,  who  once  has  been  my  slave, 

Should  ever  be  my  king. 

W,   Walsh 

The  Dream 

'T'^HE  grove  was  gloomy  all  around, 

■*•       Murmuring  the  stream  did  pass, 
Where  fond  Astraea  laid  her  down 

Upon  a  bed  of  grass; 
I  slept  and  saw  a  piteous  sight, 

Cupid  a-weeping  lay. 
Till  both  his  little  stars  of  light 

Had  wept  themselves  away. 
Methought  I  asked  him  why  he  cried; 

My  pity  led  me  on, — 
All  sighing  the  sad  boy  replied, 

'Alas!  I  am  undone! 

547 


THE  BOOK  OF 

As  I  beneath  yon  myrtles  lay, 

Down  by  Diana's  springs, 
Amyntas  stole  my  bow  away, 

And  pinioned  both  my  wings.' 
'Alas!'  I  cried,  "twas  then  thy  darts 

Wherewith  he  wounded  me  ? 
Thou  mighty  deity  of  hearts, 

He  stole  his  power  from  thee  ? 
Revenge  thee,  if  a  god  thou  be, 

Upon  the  amorous  swain, 
I'll  set  thy  wings  at  liberty. 

And  thou  shalt  fly  again; 
And,  for  this  service  on  my  part, 

All  I  demand  of  thee. 
Is,  wound  Amyntas'  cruel  heart, 

And  make  him  die  for  me.' 
His  silken  fetters  I  untied, 

And  those  gay  wings  displayed, 
Which  gently  fanned,  he  mounting  cried, 

'Farewell,  fond  easy  maid!' 
At  this  I  blushed,  and  angry  grew 

I  should  a  god  believe, 
And  waking  found  my  dream  too  true. 

For  I  was  still  a  slave. 

A.  Behti 

288.  To  Mira 

"II  THY,  cruel  creature,  why  so  bent 

*  *       To  vex  a  tender  heart } 
To  gold  and  title  you  relent; 
Love  throws  in  vain  his  dart. 
548 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Let  glittering  fools  in  courts  be  great, 

For  pay  let  armies  move: 
Beauty  should  have  no  other  bait 

But  gentle  vows  and  love. 

If  on  those  endless  charms  you  lay 

The  value  that's  their  due, 
Kings  are  themselves  too  poor  to  pay. 

A  thousand  worlds  too  few: 

But  if  a  passion  without  vice, 

Without  disguise  or  art, 
Ah,  Mira,  if  true  love's  your  price 

Behold  it  in  my  heart. 

G.  Granville,  Lord  Lansdowne 

zSg.  Song 

T  TOW  hardly  I  concealed  my  tears, 
-*■  -*■      How  oft  did  I  complain! 
When,  many  tedious  days,  my  fears 
Told  me  I  loved  in  vain. 

But  now  my  joys  as  wild  are  grown, 

And  hard  to  be  concealed; 
Sorrow  may  make  a  silent  moan, 

But  joy  will  be  revealed. 

I  tell  it  to  the  bleating  flocks. 

To  every  stream  and  tree; 
And  bless  the  hollow  murmuring  rocks 

For  echoing  back  to  me. 

549 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thus  you  may  see  with  how  much  joy 

We  want,  we  wish,  beHeve; 
'Tis  hard  such  passion  to  destroy, 

But  easy  to  deceive. 

Anne,  Marchtoness  of  Wharton 

2go.  Song 

''  I  "HE  happiest  mortals  once  were  we 

-*■        I  loved  Myra,  Myra  me; 
Each  desirous  of  the  blessing, 
Nothing  wanting  but  possessing; 
I  loved  Myra,  Myra  me: 
The  happiest  mortals  once  were  we. 

But  since  cruel  fates  dissever, 
Torn  from  love,  and  torn  forever, 

Tortures  end  me. 

Death  befriend  me! 
Of  all  pain,  the  greatest  pain 
Is  to  love,  and  love  in  vain. 

G.   Granville,  Lord  Lansdowne 

2gi.  A  Pastoral  Song 

A  S  I  was  sitting  on  the  grass 
■^   ^     Within  a  silent  shady  grove, 
I  overheard  a  country  lass, 

Was  there  bewailing  of  her  love. 
'My  love,'  says  she, 
Ts  ta'en  from  m-e; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  to  the  wars  is  prest  and  gone; 

He's  marched  away, 

And  gone  to  sea; 
Alack!  alack!  and  well-a-day! 
And  left  me  here  alone. 


'My  Love,  he  was  the  kindest  man; 

There's  none  that's  like  him  in  the  town; 
He  gently  takes  me  by  the  hand, 
And  gave  me  many  a  green  gown. 
With  kisses  sweet 
He  would  me  treat. 
And  often  sing  a  roundelay; 
And  sometimes  smile, 
Then  chat  awhile. 
So  that  we  might  the  time  beguile 
A  life-long  summer's  day. 


'My  Love,  on  May  Day,  still  would  be 

The  earliest  up  of  all  the  rest; 
With  scarves  and  ribbons  then  would  be 
Of  all  the  crew,  he  finest  drest. 
With  Morris  bells 
And  fine  things  else: 
But  when  the  pipe  began  to  play 
He  danced  so  well, 
I  heard  them  tell. 
That  he  did  all  the  rest  excel, 
And  bore  the  bell  away. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'The  man  that  took  my  Love  away, 
Was  too  too  harsh,  and  too  severe; 
I  gently  on  my  knees  did  pray 

That  he  my  Love  would  then  forbear. 
I  offered  too 
A  breeding  ewe 
And  chilver-lamb  that  were  my  own; 
Do  what  I  could. 
It  did  no  good, 
He  left  me  in  this  pensive  mood, 
To  sigh,  and  make  my  moan.' 


2g2,  Song 

TF  she  be  not  kind  as  fair, 
-'■      But  peevish  and  unhandy, 
Leave  her,  she's  only  worth  the  care 

Of  some  spruce  jack-a-dandy. 
I  would  not  have  thee  such  an  ass, 

Hadst  thou  ne'er  so  much  leisure. 
To  sigh  and  whine  for  such  a  lass 

Whose  pride's  above  her  pleasure.    ^ 

Sir  G.  Ether ege 

2g^.  The  Defiance 

T)E  not  too  proud,  imperious  dame, 
■■-^     Your  charms  are  transitory  things, 
May  melt,  while  you  at  heaven  aim. 
Like  Icarus's  waxen  wings; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  you  a  part  in  his  misfortune  bear 
Drowned  in  a  briny  ocean  of  despair. 

You  think  your  beauties  are  above 

The  poet's  brain  and  painter's  hand, 
As  if  upon  the  throne  of  love 

You  only  should  the  world  command: 
Yet  know,  though  you  presume  your  title  true. 
There  are  pretenders  that  will  rival  you. 

There's  an  experienced  rebel,  Time, 

And  in  his  squadron  's  Poverty; 
There's  Age  that  brings  along  with  him 
A  terrible  artillery: 
And  if  against  all  these  thou  keep'st  thy  crown, 
The  usurper  Death  will  make  thee  lay  it  down. 

T .  Flatman 


2g4.  Fading  Beauty 

"  I  ^AKE  Time,  my  dear,  ere  Time  takes  wing: 

-'■        Beauty  knows  no  second  spring. 
Marble  pillars,  tombs  of  brass, 
Time  breaks  down,  much  more  this  glass 
Then  ere  that  tyrant  Time  bespeak  it, 
Let's  drink  healths  in't  first,  then  break  it. 
At  twenty-five  in  women's  eyes 
Beauty  does  fade,  at  thirty  dies. 


553 


THE  BOOK  OF 

295'  ^ong 

T  T  OW  prodigious  is  my  fate, 
'■  -*■      Since  I  can't  determine  clearly, 
Whether  you'll  do  more  severely 
Giving  me  your  love  or  hate! 
For  if  you  with  kindness  bless  me. 

Since  from  you  I  soon  must  part; 
Fortune  will  so  dispossess  me, 

That  your  love  will  break  my  heart. 

But  since  Death  all  sorrow  cures. 
Might  I  choose  my  way  of  dying, 
I  could  wish  the  arrow  flying 
From  Fortune's  quiver,  not  from  yours. 
For  in  the  sad  unusual  story 

How  my  wretched  heart  was  torn, 
It  will  more  concern  your  glory, 

I  by  absence  fell  than  scorn. 

K.   (Orinda)  Philips 


2g6.  Song 

'\7"E  happy  swains  whose  hearts  are  free 

-*-       From  Love's  imperial  chain, 
Take  warning  and  be  taught  by  me 

T'  avoid  th'  enchanting  pain; 
Fatal  the  wolves  to  trembling  flocks. 

Fierce  winds  to  blossoms  prove. 
To  careless  seamen,  hidden  rocks, 

To  human  quiet,  love. 

554 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Fly  the  fair  sex,  if  bliss  you  prize; 

The  snake's  beneath  the  flower: 
Whoever  gazed  on  beauteous  eyes, 

That  tasted  quiet  more  ? 
How  faithless  is  the  lovers'  joy! 

How  constant  is  their  care 
The  kind  with  falsehood  to  destroy, 

The  cruel,  with  despair! 


Sir.  G.  Etherege 


2gj.  Song 

"PPAREWELL,  ungrateful  traitor! 
■^  Farewell,  my  perjured  swain 
Let  never  injured  creature 

Believe  a  man  again. 
The  pleasure  of  possessing 
Surpasses  all  expressing, 
But  'tis  too  short  a  blessing, 

And  love  too  long  a  pain. 


'Tis  easy  to  deceive  us, 

In  pity  of  your  pain; 
But  when  we  love,  you  leave  us 

To  rail  at  you  in  vain. 
Before  we  have  descried  it, 
There  is  no  bliss  beside  it, 
But  she,  that  once  has  tried  it, 

Will  never  love  again. 


555 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  passion  you  pretended, 

Was  only  to  obtain; 
But  when  the  charm  is  ended, 

The  charmer  you  disdain. 
Your  love  by  ours  we  measure, 
Till  we  have  lost  our  treasure; 
But  dying  is  a  pleasure 

When  living  is  a  pain. 


/.  Dryden 


2g8.  To  Re  gin  a   Collier,   on  Her 

Cruelty   to  Phil  aster 

TRIUMPHANT  Queen  of  scorn!  how  ill  doth  sit 
In  all  that  sweetness,  such  injurious  wit! 
Unjust  and  cruel .''  what  can  be  your  prize. 
To  make  one  heart  a  double  sacrifice  ? 
Where  such  ingenious  rigour  you  do  show, 
To  break  his  heart,  you  break  his  image  too; 
And  by  a  tyranny  that  's  strange  and  new 
You  murther  him  because  he  w^orships  you. 
No  pride  can  raise  you,  or  can  make  him  start, 
Since  Love  and  Honour  do  enrich  his  heart. 
Be  wise  and  good,  lest  when  fate  will  be  just, 
She  should  o'erthrow  those  glories  in  the  dust. 
Rifle  your  beauties,  and  you  thus  forlorn 
Make  a  cheap  victim  to  another's  scorn; 
And  in  those  fetters  which  you  do  upbraid. 
Yourself  a  wretched  captive  may  be  made. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Redeem  the  poisoned  Age,  let  it  be  seen 
There's  no  such  freedom  as  to  serve  a  Queen. 
But  you  I  see  are  lately  Round-head  grown, 
And  whom  you  vanquish  you  insult  upon. 

K.  (Orinda)  Philips 


2gg.  Song 

C\^  all  the  torments,  all  the  cares, 
^-^     With  which  our  lives  are  curst; 
Of  all  the  plagues  a  lover  bears. 

Sure  rivals  are  the  worst! 
By  partners  in  each  other  kind 

Afflictions  easier  grow; 
In  love  alone  we  hate  to  find 

Companions  of  our  woe. 

Sylvia,  for  all  the  pangs  you  see 

Are  labouring  in  my  breast, 
I  beg  not  you  would  favour  me, 

Would  you  but  slight  the  rest! 
How  great  soe'er  your  rigours  are, 

With  them  alone  I'll  cope; 
I  can  endure  my  own  despair, 

But  not  another's  hope. 

W.   Walsh 


557 


THE  BOOK  OF 

joo.  The  Despairing  Lover 

DISTRACTED  with  care 
For  Phillis  the  fair, 
Since  nothing  could  move  her, 
Poor  Damon,  her  lover, 
Resolves  in  despair 
No  longer  to  languish 
Nor  bear  so  much  anguish; 
But,  mad  v^'ith  his  love, 

To  a  precipice  goes. 
Where  a  leap  from  above 

Would  soon  finish  his  woes. 

When  in  rage  he  came  there. 
Beholding  how  steep 
The  sides  did  appear. 
And  the  bottom  how  deep; 
His  torments  projecting. 
And  sadly  reflecting 
That  a  lover  forsaken 

A  new  love  may  get. 
But  a  neck  when  once  broken 

Isn't  easily  set: 

And  that  he  could  die 
Whenever  he  would. 
But  that  he  could  live 
But  as  long  as  he  could: 
How  grievous  soever 
The  torment  might  grow. 
He  scorned  to  endeavour 


RESrORATlON  VERSE 

To  finish  it  so; 

And  bold,  unconcerned 

At  thoughts  of  the  pain, 
He  calmly  returned 

To  his  cottage  again. 


W.    Walsh 


SOI.  Song 


t~*'NH  life  be  a  blessing, 
^-^     Or  worth  the  possessing. 
Can  life  be  a  blessing,  if  love  were  away  ? 

Ah,  no!  though  our  love  all  night  keep  us  waking, 
And  though  he  torment  us  v/sth  cares  all  the  day^ 

Yet  he  sweetens,  he  sweetens  our  pains  in  the  taking; 
There's  an  hour  at  the  last,  there's  an  hour  to  repay. 

In  every  possessing, 
The  ravishing  blessing. 
In  every  possessing,  the  fruit  ot  our  pain. 
Poor  lovers  forget  long  ages  of  anguish, 
Whate'er  they  have  suffered  and  done  to  obtain; 

'Tis  a  pleasure,  a  pleasure  to  sigh  and  to  languish. 
When  we  hope,  when  we  hope  to  be  happy  again. 

/.  Dryden 

^02.  The  Libertine 

A  THOUSAND  martyrs  'l  have  made, 
•*•  *■     All  sacrificed  to  my  desire, 
A  thousand  beauties  have  betrayed 
That  languish  in  resistless  fire: 

559     • 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  untamed  heart  to  hand  I  brought, 
And  fix'd  the  wild  and  wandering  thought. 

I  never  vowed  nor  sighed  in  vain, 

But  both,  though  false,  were  well  received; 
The-  fair  are  pleased  to  give  us  pain. 

And  what  they  wish  is  soon  believed: 
And  though  I  talked  of  wounds  and  smart, 
Love's  pleasure  only  touched  my  heart. 

Alone  the  glory  and  the  spoil 

I  always  laughing  bore  away; 
The  triumphs  without  pain  or  toil. 

Without  the  hell  the  heaven  of  joy; 
And  while  I  thus  at  random  rove 
Despise  the  fools  that  whine  for  love. 


A.  Behn 


303.  Song 

"\  1  THEN  on  those  lovely  looks  I  gaze, 

*  *        To  see  a  wretch  pursuing. 
In  raptures  of  a  blest  amaze, 

His  pleasing  happy  ruin, 
'Tis  not  for  pity  that  I  move; 

His  fate  is  too  aspiring, 
Whose  heart,  broke  with  a  load  of  love. 

Dies  wishing  and  admiring. 

But  if  this  murder  you'd  forego, 
Your  slave  from  death  removing, 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Let  me  your  art  of  charming  know, 

Or  learn  you  mine  of  loving; 
But,  whether  life  or  death  betide, 

In  love  'tis  equal  measure. 
The  victor  lives  with  empty  pride. 

The  vanquished  dies  with  pleasure. 

].    JVilmotf  Earl  of  Rochester 


304.  Song 

/^^  IVE  me  leave  to  rail  at  you, 
^-^      I  ask  nothing  but  my  due; 
To  call  you  false,  and  then  to  say 
You  shall  not  keep  my  heart  a  day: 
But,  alas!  against  my  will, 
I  must  be  your  captive  still. 
Ah!  be  kinder  then:  for  I 
Cannot  change,  and  would  not  die. 

Kindness  has  resistless  charms. 

All  besides  but  weakly  move. 

Fiercest  anger  it  disarms, 

And  clips  the  wings  of  flying  love. 

Beauty  does  the  heart  invade. 

Kindness  only  can  persuade; 

It  gilds  the  lover's  servile  chain, 

And  makes  the  slaves  grow  pleased  again. 

J.    JVilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester 


561 


THE  BOOK  OF 

305-  ^ong 

"VTO,  no,  poor  suffering  heart,  no  change  endeavour; 

■*•  ^      Choose  to  sustain  the  smart,  rather  than  leave  her. 

My  ravished  eyes  behold  such  charms  about  her, 

I  can  die  with  her,  but  not  live  without  her; 

One  tender  sigh  of  hers  to  see  me  languish. 

Will  more  than  pay  the  price  of  my  past  anguish. 

Beware,  O  cruel  fair,  how  you  smile  on  me, 

*Twas  a  kind  look  of  yours  that  has  undone  me. 

Love  has  in  store  for  me  one  happy  minute, 

And  she  will  end  my  pain  who  did  begin  it; 

Then  no  day  void  of  bliss  or  pleasure  leaving, 

Ages  shall  slide  away  without  perceiving: 

Cupid  shall  guard  the  door,  the  more  to  please  us. 

And  keep  out  Time  and  Death,  when  they  would  seize  us: 

Time  and  Death  shall  depart,  and  say,  in  flying. 

Love  has  found  out  a  way  to  live  by  dying. 


] .  Dryden 


306.  Song 

/^~^OME,  Celia,  let's  agree  at  last 
^-^     To  love  and  live  in  quiet; 
Let's  tie  the  knot  so  very  fast 

That  time  shall  ne'er  untie  it. 
Love's  dearest  joys  they  never  prove, 

Who  free  from  quarrels  live; 
'Tis  sure  a  godlike  part  of  love 

Each  other  to  forgive. 
562 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

When  least  I  seemed  concerned  I  took 

No  pleasure,  nor  had  rest; 
And  when  I  feigned  an  angry  look, 

Alas!  I  loved  you  best. 
Say  but  the  same  to  me,  you'll  find 

How  blest  will  be  our  fate; 
Sure  to  be  grateful,  to  be  kind, 

Can  never  be  too  late. 

] .  Shefield,  Duke  of  Buckinghamshire 

soy.  Inconstancy  Excused 

T   MUST  confess  I  am  untrue 
-■-      To  Gloriana's  eyes; 
But  he  that's  smiled  upon  by  you 
Must  all  the  world  despise. 

In  winter  fires  of  little  worth 

Excite  our  dull  desire; 
But  when  the  sun  breaks  kindly  forth 

Those  fainter  flames  expire'. 

Then  blame  me  not  for  slighting  now 

What  I  did  once  adore: 
O  do  but  this  one  change  allow. 

And  I  can  change  no  more; 

Fixed  by  your  never-failing  charms 

Till  I  with  age  decay. 
Till  languishing  within  your  arms 

I  sigh  my  soul  away. 

/.   Shefichl,  Duke  of  Buckinghamshire 

5^'3 


THE  BOOK  OF 

^08.  Rondeau 

''  I  "HOU  fool!  if  madness  be  so  rife 
-*■       That,  spite  of  wit,  thou'lt  have  a  wife, 
I'll  tell  thee  what  thou  must  expect, — 
After  the  honey-moon  neglect 
All  the  sad  days  of  thy  whole  life! 

To  that  a  world  of  woe  and  strife, 
Which  of  is  marriage  the  effect; 
And  thou  thy  own  woe's  architect. 
Thou  fool! 

Thou'lt  nothing  find  but  disrespect, 
111  words  i'  th'  scolding  dialect, 
For  she'll  all  tabor  be  or  fife. 
Then  prithee  go  and  whet  thy  knife. 
And  from  this  fate  thyself  protect. 
Thou  fool! 

C.  Cotton 

jog.  The  IFinchester  fVedding 

or  Ralph  of  Reading  and  Black  Bess  of  the  Green. 

A  T  Winchester  was  a  wedding, 
■^   ^     The  like  was  never  seen, 
'Twixt  lusty  Ralph  of  Reading 

And  bonny  Black  Bess  of  the  Green: 
The  fiddlers  were  crowding  before. 

Each  lass  was  as  fine  as  a  queen; 
There  was  a  hundred  and  more, 

5^H 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

For  all  the  country  came  in: 
Brisk  Robin  led  Rose  so  fair. 

She  looked  like  a  lily  o'  th'  vale, 
And  ruddy-faced  Harry  led  Mary, 

And  Roger  led  bouncing  Nell. 

With  Tommy  came  smiling  Katy, 

He  helped  her  over  the  stile. 
And  swore  there  was  none  so  pretty 

In  forty  and  forty  long  mile: 
Kit  gave  a  green  gown  to  Betty, 

And  lent  her  his  hand  to  rise; 
But  Jenny  was  jeered  by  Watty 

For  looking  blue  under  the  eyes: 
Thus  merrily  chatting  all, 

They  passed  to  the  bride-house  along, 
With  Johnny  and  pretty-faced  Nanny, 

The  fairest  of  all  the  throng. 

The  bride  came  out  to  meet  'em. 

Afraid  the  dinner  was  spoiled; 
And  ushered  'em  in  to  treat  'em 

With  baked  and  roasted  and  boiled: 
The  lads  were  so  frolic  and  jolly, 

For  each  had  his  love  by  his  side, 
But  Willy  was  melancholy, 

For  he  had  a  mind  to  the  bride: 
Then  Philip  begins  her  health 

And  turns  a  beer-glass  on  his  thrumb; 
But  Jenkin  was  reckoned  for  drinking 

The  best  in  Christendom. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And,  now  they  had  dined,  advancing 

Into  the  midst  of  the  Hall, 
The  fiddlers  struck  up  for  dancing 

And  Jeremy  led  up  the  brawl; 
But  Margery  kept  a  quarter, 

A  lass  that  was  proud  of  her  pelf, 
'Cause  Arthur  had  stolen  her  garter 

And  swore  he  would  tie  it  himself: 
She  struggled,  and  blushed,  and  frowned, 

And  ready  with  anger  to  cry, 
'Cause  Arthur,  with  tying  her  garter, 

Had  slipped  his  hand  too  high. 


And  now,  for  throwing  the  stocking, 

The  bride  away  was  led; 
The  bridegroom  got  drunk  and  was  knocking 

For  candles  to  light  'em  to  bed: 
But  Robin,  that  found  him  silly, 

Most  friendly  took  him  aside, 
The  while  that  his  wife  with  Willy 

Was  playing  at  hopper's-hide: 
And  now  the  warm  game  begins. 

The  critical  minute  was  come. 
And  chatting  and  billing  and  kissing 

Went  merrily  round  the  room. 


Pert  Stephen  was  kind  to  Betty, 
And  blithe  as  a  bird  in  the  spring; 

And  Tommy  was  so  to  Katy, 

And  married  her  with  a  rush-ring: 
566 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Sukey,  that  danced  with  the  cushion, 

An  hour  from  the  room  had  hcen  gone, 
And  Barnaby  knew  by  her  bhishing 

That  some  other  dance  had  been  done: 
And  thus,  of  the  fifty  fair  maids 

That  came  to  the  wedding  with  men, 
Scarce  five  of  the  fifty  was  left  ye 

That  so  did  return  again. 


r.  D'Urfey 


310.  A  South  Sea  Ballad 

T  N  London  stands  a  famous  pile, 
-■■     And  near  that  pile  an  Alley, 
Where  merry  crowds  for  riches  toil, 

And  wisdom  stoops  to  folly. 
Here,  sad  and  joyful,  high  and  low, 

Court  Fortune  for  her  graces; 
And  as  she  smiles  or  frowns,  they  show 

Their  gestures  and  grimaces. 

Here,  Stars  and  Garters  do  appear 

Among  our  lords  the  rabble; 
To  buy  and  sell,  to  see  and  hear 

The  Jews  and  Gentiles  squabble. 
Here,  crafty  Courtiers  are  too  wise 

For  those  who  trust  to  fortune; 
They  see  the  cheat  with  clearer  eyes, 

Who  peep  behind  the  curtain. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Long  heads  may  thrive,  by  sober  rules; 

Because  they  think,  and  drink  not; 
But  headlongs  are  our  thriving  fools. 

Who  only  drink,  and  think  not. 
The  lucky  rogues  like  spaniel  dogs, 

Leap  into  South  Sea  water; 
And  there  they  fish  for  golden  frogs, 

Nor  caring  what  comes  after. 

'Tis  said  that  alchemists  of  old 

Could  turn  a  brazen  kettle, 
Or  leaden  cistern  into  gold; 
.    That  noble  tempting  metal. 
But  (if  it  here  may  be  allowed. 

To  bring  in  great  with  small  things) 
Our  cunning  South  Sea  like  a  god. 

Turns  nothing  into  all  things. 

What  need  have  we  of  Indian  wealth, 

Or  commerce  with  our  neighbours; 
Our  Constitution  is  in  health, 

And  riches  crown  our  labours. 
Our  South  Sea  ships  have  golden  shrouds, 

They  bring  us  wealth,  'tis  granted: 
But  lodge  their  treasure  in  the  clouds, 

To  hide  it  till  it's  wanted. 

O,  Britain!  bless  thy  present  state! 

Thou  only  happy  nation! 
So  oddly  rich,  so  madly  great. 

Since  Bubbles  came  in  fashion. 
568 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Successful  rakes  exert  their  pride, 
And  count  their  airy  millions; 

Whilst  homely  drabs  in  coaches  ride, 
Brought  up  to  Town  on  pillions. 

Few  men  who  follow  reason's  rules, 

Grow  fat  with  South  Sea  diet; 
Young  rattles  and  unthinking  fools 

Are  those  that  flourish  by  it. 
Old  musty  jades,  and  pushing  blades, 

Who've  least  consideration, 
Grow  rich  apace;  while  wiser  heads 

Are  struck  with  admiration. 

A  race  of  men,  who,  t'  other  day. 

Lay  crushed  beneath  disasters, 
Are  now,  by  Stock,  brought  into  play, 

And  made  our  lords  and  masters. 
But  should  our  South  Sea  Babel  fall. 

What  numbers  would  be  frowning; 
The  losers  then  must  ease  their  gall 

By  hanging,  or  by  drowning. 

Five  hundred  millions,  notes  and  bonds, 

Our  Stocks  are  worth  in  value: 
But  neither  lie  in  goods,  or  lands. 

Or  money,  let  me  tell  ye. 
Yet  though  our  foreign  trade  is  lost. 

Of  mighty  wealth  we  vapour; 
When  all  the  riches  that  we  boast 

Consist  of  scraps  of  paper. 


E.   Ward 


THE  BOOK  OE 

J//.  Upon  Drinking  in  a  Bowl 

'\  rULCAN,  contrive  me  such  a  cup 

^       As  Nestor  used  of  old; 
Show  all  thy  skill  to  trim  it  up, 
Damask  it  round  with  gold. 

Make  it  so  large  that,  filled  with  sack 

Up  to  the  swelling  brim. 
Vast  toasts  on  the  delicious  lake, 

Like  ships  at  sea  may  swim. 

Engrave  not  battle  on  his  cheek. 

With  war  I've  naught  to  do: 
I'm  none  of  those  that  took  Maestrick, 

Nor  Yarmouth  leaguer  knew. 

Let  it  no  name  of  planets  tell, 

Fixed  stars  or  constellations; 
For  I  am  no  Sir  Sidrophel, 

Nor  none  of  his  relations. 

But  carve  thereon  a  spreading  vine, 

Then  add  two  lovely  boys; 
Their  limbs  in  amorous  folds  entwine, 

The  type  of  future  joys. 

Cupid  and  Bacchus  my  saints  are, 
May  Drink  and  Love  still  reign! 

With  wine  I  wash  away  my  care. 
And  then  to  love  again. 

/.   Wihnot,  Earl  of  Rochester 

57P 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

J72.  Ode 

"  I  'HE  day  is  set  did  earth  adorn 

-*■       To  drink  the  brewing  of  the  main, 
And,  hot  with  travel,  will  ere  morn 

Carouse  it  to  an  ebb  again. 
Then  let  us  drink,  time  to  improve, 

Secure  of  Cromwell  and  his  spies; 
Night  will  conceal  our  healths,  and  love, 

For  all  her  thousand  thousand  eyes. 

Chorus :  Then  let  us  drink,  secure  of  spies, 
To  Phoebus,  and  his  second  rise. 

Without  the  evening  dew  and  showers, 

The  earth  would  be  a  barren  place, 
Of  trees  and  plants,  of  herbs  and  flowers, 

To  crown  her  now  enamelled  face; 
Nor  can  wit  spring,  nor  fancies  grow, 

Unless  we  dew  our  heads  in  wine. 
Plump  autumn's  wealthy  overflow. 

And  sprightly  issue  of  the  vine. 

Chorus:  Then  let  us  drink,  secure  of  spies, 
To  Phoebus,  and  his  second  rise. 

Wine  is  the  cure  of  cares  and  sloth. 
That  rust  the  metal  of  the  mind; 

The  juice  that  man  to  man  does,  both 
In  freedom  and  in  friendship  bind. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

This  clears  the  monarch's  cloudy  brows, 
And  cheers  the  hearts  of  sullen  swains, 

To  wearied  souls  repose  allows, 

And  makes  slaves  caper  in  their  chains. 

Chorus:  Then  let  us  drink,  secure  of  spies, 
To  Phcebus,  and  his  second  rise. 

Wine,  that  distributes  to  each  part 

Its  heat  and  motion,  is  the  spring, 
The  poet's  head,  the  subject's  heart; — 

'Twas  wine  made  old  Anacreon  sing. 
Then  let  us  quaff  it,  whilst  the  night 

Serves  but  to  hide  such  guilty  souls 
As  fly  the  beauty  of  the  light; 

Or  dare  not  pledge  our  loyal  bowls. 

Chorus:  Then  let  us  revel,  quaff,  and  sing 
Health,  and  his  sceptre  to  the  King. 

C.  Cotton 


J/J.  The  Commons'  Petition 

to  King  Charles  II 

TN  all  humanity,  we  crave 

-'-      Our  Sovereign  may  be  our  slave; 

And  humbly  beg,  that  he  may  be 

Betrayed  by  us  most  loyally; 

And  if  he  please  once  to  lay  down 

His  sceptre,  dignity,  and  crown; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

We'll  make  him,  for  the  time  to  come, 
The  greatest  Prince  in  Christendom! 

The  King's  Answer 
Charles,  at  this  time,  having  no  need. 
Thanks  you  as  much  as  if  he  did. 

] .    Wilviot,  Earl  of  Rochester 


The  Victory  in  Hungary 

TT  ARK!  how  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  comes. 
•*-  -*■      The  brave  victorious  soul  of  war; 
With  trumpets  and  with  kettle-drums. 
Like  thunder  rolling  from  afar. 

On  the  left  wing,  the  conqu'ring  horse, 
The  brave  Bavarian  Duke  does  lead. 

These  heroes  with  united  force, 

Fill  all  the  Turkish  host  with  dread. 

Their  bright  caparisons  behold! 

Rich  habits,  streamers,  shining  arms, 
The  glittering  steel  and  burnished  gold, 

The  pomp  of  war  with  all  its  charms. 

With  solemn  march,  and  fatal  pace, 
They  bravely  on  the  foe  press  on; 

The  cannons  roar,  the  shot  takes  place; 
Whilst  smoke  and  dust  obscure  the  sun. 

573 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  horses  neigh,  the  soldiers  shout; 

And  now  the  furious  bodies  join; 
The  slaughter  rages  all  about; 

And  men  in  groans  their  blood  resign. 

The  weapons  clash;  the  roaring  drum, 
With  clangour  of  the  trumpets'  sound; 

The  howls  and  yells  of  men  o'ercome; 
And  from  the  neighbouring  hills  rebound. 

Now,  now,  the  infidels  give  place; 

Then,  all  in  routs,  they  headlong  fly! 
Heroes,  in  dust,  pursue  the  chase; 

While  deaf'ning  clamours  rend  the  sky. 

r.  Shadwell 


5/5.  Lines  Printed   Under  the 

Engraved  Portrait  of  Milton 

In  Tonsons  Folio  Etlitton  of  the  'Paradise  Lost' 

'TPHREE  poets,  in  three  distant  ages  born, 
•*■       Greece,  Italy,  and  England  did  adorn. 
The  first  in  loftiness  of  thought  surpassed, 
The  next  in  majesty,  in  both  the  last. 
The  force  of  Nature  could  no  farther  go; 
To  make  a  third  she  joined  the  former  two. 

] .  Dryden 

574 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

^i6.      Prologues  to   the   University  of 
Oxford 


Spoken  by  Mr.  Hart  at  the  acting  of  the  'Silent  Woman* 
1673 
"1^7" HAT  Greece,  when  learning  flourished,  only  knew 

•  *        Athenian  judges,  you  this  day  renew. 
Here  too  are  annual  rites  to  Pallas  done, 
And  here  poetic  prizes  lost  or  won. 
Methinks  I  see  you,  crowned  with  olives,  sit, 
And  strike  a  sacred  horror  from  the  pit. 
A  day  of  doom  is  this  of  your  decree, 
Where  even  the  best  are  but  by  mercy  free; 
A  day,  which  none  but  Jonson  durst  have  wished  to  see. 
Here  they  who  long  have  known  the  useful  stage, 
Come  to  be  taught  themselves  to  teach  the  age. 
As  your  commissioners  our  poets  go, 
To  cultivate  the  virtue  which  you  sow; 
In  your  Lyceum  first  themselves  refined, 
And  delegated  thence  to  human-kind. 
But  as  ambassadors,  when  long  from  home, 
For  new  instructions  to  their  princes  come, 
So  poets,  who  your  precepts  have  forgot. 
Return,  and  beg  they  may  be  better  taught: 
Follies  and  faults  elsewhere  by  them  are  shown, 
But  by  your  manners  they  correct  their  own. 
The  illiterate  writer,  empiric-like,  applies 
To  minds  diseased,  unsafe,  chance  remedies: 
The  learned  in  schools,  where  knowledge  first  began 
Studies  with  care  the  anatomy  of  man; 

575 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Sees  virtue,  vice,  and  passions  in  their  cause, 

And  fame  from  science,  not  from  fortune,  draws. 

So  poetry,  which  is  in  Oxford  made 

An  art,  in  London  only  is  a  trade. 

There  haughty  dunces,  whose  unlearned  pen 

Could  ne'er  spell  grammar,  would  be  reading  men. 

Such  build  their  poems  the  Lucretian  way; 

So  many  huddled  atoms  make  a  play; 

And  if  they  hit  in  order  by  some  chance, 

They  call  that  nature,  which  is  ignorance. 

To  such  a  fame  let  mere  town-wits  aspire. 

And  their  gay  nonsense  their  own  cits  admire. 

Our  poet,  could  he  find  forgiveness  here. 

Would  wish  it  rather  than  a  plaudtt  there. 

He  owns  no  crown  from  those  Praetorian  bands, 

But  knows  that  right  is  in  this  Senate's  hands. 

Not  impudent  enough  to  hope  your  praise, 

Low  at  the  Muses'  feet  his  wreath  he  lays, 

And,  where  he  took  it  up,  resigns  his  bays. 

Kings  make  their  poets  whom  themselves  think  fit. 

But  'tis  your  suffrage  makes  authentic  wit. 


^77.  Spoken  by  Mr.  Hart 

1674 

"pOETS,  your  subjects,  have  their  parts  assigned, 
-■-        T'  unbend,  and  to  divert  their  sovereign's  mind: 
When,  tired  with  following  nature,  you  think  fit 
To  seek  repose  in  the  cool  shades  of  wit. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And,  from  the  sweet  retreat,  with  joy  survey 

What  rests,  and  what  is  conquered,  of  the  way. 

Here,  free  yourselves  from  envy,  care,  and  strife. 

You  view  the  various  turns  of  human  Hfe; 

Safe  in  our  scene,  through  dangerous  courts  you  go, 

And,  undebauched,  the  vice  of  cities  know. 

Your  theories  are  here  to  practice  brought, 

As  in  mechanic  operations  wrought; 

And  man,  the  Httle  world,  before  you  set. 

As  once  the  sphere  of  crystal  showed  the  great. 

Blest  sure  are  you  above  all  mortal  kind. 

If  to  your  fortunes  you  can  suit  your  mind; 

Content  to  see,  and  shun,  those  ills  we  show, 

And  crimes  on  theatres  alone  to  know. 

With  joy  we  bring  what  our  dead  authors  writ. 

And  beg  from  you  the  value  of  their  wit: 

That  Shakespeare's,  Fletcher's,  and  great  Jonson's  claim 

May  be  renewed  from  those  who  gave  them  fame. 

None  of  our  living  poets  dare  appear; 

For  Muses  so  severe  are  worshipped  here 

That,  conscious  of  their  faults,  they  shun  the  eye, 

And,  as  profane,  from  sacred  places  fly. 

Rather  than  see  the  offended  God,  and  die. 

We  bring  no  imperfections,  but  our  own; 

Such  faults  as  made  are  by  the  makers  shown; 

And  you  have  been  so  kind  that  we  may  boast, 

The  greatest  judges  still  can  pardon  most. 

Poets  must  stoop,  when  they  would  please  our  pit. 

Debased  even  to  the  level  of  their  wit; 

Disdaining  that  which  yet  they  know  will  take, 

Hating  themselves  what  their  applause  must  make. 

But  when  to  praise  from  you  they  would  aspire, 

577 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Though  they  hke  eagles  mount,  your  Jove  is  higher. 
So  far  your  knowledge  all  their  power  transcends, 
As  what  should  he,  beyond  what  ts,  extends. 


318.  1681 

'  I  "HOUGH  actors  cannot  much  of  learning  boast, 

-*■        Of  all  who  want  it,  we  admire  it  most: 
We  love  the  praises  of  a  learned  pit, 
As  we  remotely  are  allied  to  wit. 
We  speak  our  poet's  wit,  and  trade  in  ore, 
Like  those  who  touch  upon  the  golden  shore; 
Betwixt  our  judges  can  distinction  make, 
Discern  how  much,  and  why,  our  poems  take; 
Mark  if  the  fools,  or  men  of  sense,  rejoice; 
Whether  th'  applause  be  only  sound  or  voice. 
When  our  fop  gallants,  or  our  city  folly. 
Clap  over-loud,  it  makes  us  melancholy: 
We  doubt  that  scene  which  does  their  wonder  raise, 
And,  for  their  ignorance,  contemn  their  praise. 
Judge  then,  if  we  who  act,  and  they  who  write, 
Should  not  be  proud  of  giving  you  delight. 
London  like  grossly;  but  this  nicer  pit 
Examines,  fathoms,  all  the  depths  of  wit; 
The  ready  finger  lays  on  every  blot; 
Knows  what  should  justly  please,  and  what  should  not. 
Nature  herself  lies  open  to  your  view, 
You  judge  by  her  what  draught  of  her  is  true. 
Where  outlines  false,  and  colours  seem  too  faint. 
Where  bunglers  daub,  and  where  true  poets  paint. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But,  by  the  sacred  genius  of  this  place, 

By  every  Muse,  by  each  domestic  grace, 

Be  kind  to  wit,  which  but  endeavours  well. 

And,  where  you  judge,  presumes  not  to  excel. 

Our  poets  hither  for  adoption  come, 

As  nations  sued  to  be  made  free  of  Rome: 

Not  in  the  suffragating  tribes  to  stand. 

But  in  your  utmost,  last,  provincial  band. 

If  his  ambition  may  those  opes  pursue, 

Who  with  religion  loves  your  arts  and  you, 

Oxford  to  him  a  dearer  name  shall  be. 

Than  his  own  mother-university. 

Thebes  did  his  green,  unknowing  youth  engage; 

He  chooses  Athens  in  his  riper  age. 

J.  Dryden 


3ig.  A  Wish 

"\  TOT  to  the  hills  where  cedars  move 

■^  ^      Their  cloudy  heads;  not  to  the  grove 

Of  myrtles  in  th'  Elysian  shade, 

Nor  Tempe  which  the  poets  made, 

Not  on  the  spicy  mountains  play, 

Or  travel  to  Arabia, 

I  aim  not  at  the  careful  throne 

Which  Fortune's  darlings  sit  upon: 

No,  no,  the  best  this  fickle  world  can  give 

Has  but  a  little,  little  time  to  live. 

But  let  me  soar,  O  let  me  fly 
Beyond  poor  earth's  benighted  eye, 

579 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Beyond  the  pitch  swift  eagles  tower. 
Beyond  the  reach  of  human  power, 
Above  the  clouds,  above  the  way 
Whence  the  sun  darts  his  piercing  ray, 
O  let  me  tread  those  courts  that  are 
So  bright,  so  pure,  so  blest,  so  fair, 
As  neither  thou  nor  I  must  ever  know 
On  earth:  'tis  thither,  thither  would  I  go. 

T.  Fiatman 


320.  For   Thoughts 

'T^HOUGHTS!  what  are  they? 

-*■       They  are  my  constant  friends, 
Who,  when  harsh  Fate  its  dull  brow  bends, 
Uncloud  me  with  a  smiling  ray. 
And  in  the  depth  of  midnight  force  a  day. 

When  I  retire  and  flee 
The  busy  throngs  of  company 
To  hug  myself  in  privacy, 
O  the  discourse — the  pleasant  talk 
'Twixt  us,  my  thoughts,  along  a  lonely  walk! 

You  (like  the  stupefying  wine 
The  dying  malefactors  sip 

With  trembling  lip, 
T'  abate  the  rigour  of  their  doom 
By  a  less  troublous  cut  to  their  long  home) 
Make  me  slight  crosses,  though  they  piled  up  lie, 
All  by  the  magic  of  an  ecstasy. 
580 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Do  I  desire  to  see 
The  throne  and  awful  majesty 

Of  that  proud  one, 
Brother  and  uncle  to  the  stars  and  sun  ? 
These  can  conduct  me  where  such  toys  reside 
And  waft  me  'cross  the  main,  sans  wind  and  tide. 


Would  I  descry 
Those  radiant  mansions  'bove  the  sky, 
Invisible  to  mortal  eye, 

My  thoughts  can  easily  lay 

A  shining  track  thereto. 

And  nimbly  flitting  go; 
Through  all  the  eleven  orbs  can  shove  a  way. 
My  thoughts  like  Jacob's  ladder  are 
A  most  angelic  thoroughfare. 


The  wealth  that  shines 
In  th'  oriental  mines; 
Those  sparkling  gems  which  Nature  keeps 
Within  her  cabinets,  the  deeps; 

The  verdant  fields. 
Those  rarities  the  rich  world  yields. 
Huge  structures,  whose  each  gilded  spire 
Glisters  like  lightning,  which  while  men  admire 

They  deem  the  neighbouring  sky  on  fire — 
These  can  I  dwell  upon  and  'live  mine  eyes 
With  millions  of  varieties. 
As  on  the  front  of  Pisgah  I 
Can  th'  Holy  Land  through  these  my  optics  spy. 

581 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Contemn  we  then 
The  peevish  rage  of  men, 
Whose  violence  can  ne'er  divorce 
Our  mutual  amity, 
Or  lay  so  damned  a  curse 
As  non-addresses  'twixt  my  thoughts  and  me; 

For  though  I  sigh  in  irons,  they 
Use  their  old  freedom,  readily  obey. 
And,  when  my  bosom  friends  desert  me,  stay. 

Come  then,  my  darlings,  I'll  embrace 

My  privilege;  make  known 
The  high  prerogative  I  own. 
By  making  all  allurements  give  you  place, 

Whose  sweet  society  to  me 
A  sanctuary  and  a  shield  shall  be 
'Gainst  the  full  quivers  of  my  Destiny. 

T.  Flatman 


321.  On  News 

"\TEWS  from  a  foreign  country  came, 
■^  ^      As  if  my  treasure  and  my  wealth  lay  there: 
So  much  it  did  my  heart  enflame 
'Twas  wont  to  call  my  soul  into  mine  ear, 
Which  thither  went  to  meet 

The  approaching  sweet. 

And  on  the  threshold  stood, 

To  entertain  the  unknown  Good. 

It  hovered  there 

As  if  'twould  leave  mine  ear, 

582 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  was  so  eager  to  embrace 
The  joyful  tidings  as  they  came, 
'Twould  almost  leave  its  dwelling-place, 
To  entertain  that  same. 


As  if  the  tidings  were  the  things, 
My  very  joys  themselves,  my  foreign  treasure, 

Or  else  did  bear  them  on  their  wings; 
With  so  much  joy  they  came,  with  so  much  pleasure. 
My  Soul  stood  at  that  gate 

To  recreate 
Itself  with  bliss:  and  to 
Be  pleased  with  speed.  A  fuller  view 
It  fain  would  take. 
Yet  journeys  back  would  make 
Unto  my  heart:  as  if  'twere  fain 
Go  out  to  meet,  yet  stay  within 
To  fit  a  place,  to  entertain, 
And  bring  the  tidings  in. 


What  sacred  instinct  did  inspire 
My  Soul  in  childhood  with  a  hope  so  strong  ? 

What  secret  force  moved  my  desire 
To  expect  my  joys  beyond  the  seas,  so  young  ? 
Felicity  I  knew 

Was  out  of  view: 
And  being  here  alone, 
I  saw  that  happiness  was  gone 
From  me!  For  this, 
I  thirsted  absent  bliss, 

583 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  thought  that  sure  beyond  the  seas, 
Or  else  in  something  near  at  hand 
I  knew  not  yet,  (since  nought  did  please 
I  knew)  my  Bliss  did  stand. 

But  little  did  the  infant  dream 
That  all  the  treasures  of  the  world  were  by: 

And  that  himself  was  so  the  cream 
And  crown  of  all  which  round  about  did  lie. 
Yet  thus  it  was:  The  gem. 

The  diadem, 
The  ring  enclosing  all 
That  stood  upon  this  earthly  ball; 
The  Heavenly  Eye, 
Much  wider  than  the  sky, 
Wherein  they  all  included  were. 
The  glorious  Soul  that  was  the  King 
Made  to  possess  them,  did  appear 
A  small  and  little  thing! 

T .  Traherne 


^22.  The  Aspiration 

T  TOW  long,  great  God,  how  long  must  I 
^  ■'■      Immured  in  this  dark  prison  lie! 
Where  at  the  gates  and  avenues  of  sense 
My  Soul  must  watch  to  have  intelligence; 
Where  but  faint  gleams  of  thee  salute  my  sight, 
Like  doubtful  moonshine  in  a  cloudy  night. 
When  shall  I  leave  this  magic  Sphere, 
And  be  all  mind,  all  eye,  all  ear. 
584 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

How  cold  this  clime!  and  yet  my  sense 

Perceives  even  here  thy  influence. 
Even  here  thy  strong  magnetic  charms  I  feel, 
And  pant  and  tremble  like  the  amorous  steel. 
To  lower  good,  and  beauties  less  divine, 
Sometimes  my  erroneous  needle  does  decline; 

But  yet  so  strong  the  sympathy, 

It  turns,  and  points  again  to  thee. 

I  long  to  see  this  excellence 

Which  at  such  distance  strikes  my  sense. 
My  impatient  Soul  struggles  to  disengage 
Her  wings  from  the  confinement  of  her  cage. 
Would'st  thou  great  Love  this  prisoner  once  set  free. 
How  would  she  hasten  to  be  link'd  with  thee! 

She'd  for  no  angel's  conduct  stay, 

But  fly,  and  love  on  all  the  way. 

/.  Norris,  of  Bemerton 


J2J.  The  Preparative 

1\ /TY  body  being  dead,  my  limbs  unknown; 
^^ ^      Before  I  skill'd  to  prize 

Those  living  stars  mine  eyes. 
Before  my  tongue  or  cheeks  were  to  me  shown, 

Before  I  knew  my  hands  were  mine, 
Or  that  my  sinews  did  my  members  join. 

When  neither  nostril,  foot  nor  car 
As  yet  was  seen,  or  felt,  or  did  appear: 


THE  BOOK  OF 

I  was  within 
A  house  I  knew  not,  newly  cloth'd  with  skin. 

Then  was  my  soul  my  only  all  to  me, 
A  living  endless  eye, 
Just  bounded  with  the  sky. 
Whose  power,  whose  act,  whose  essence,  was  to  see: 

I  was  an  inward  Sphere  of  Light, 
Or  an  interminable  Orb  of  Sight, 

An  endless  and  a  living  day, 
A  vital  Sun  that  round  about  did  ray 

All  life,  all  sense, 
A  naked  simple  pure  Intelligence. 

I  then  no  thirst  nor  hunger  did  perceive, 
No  dull  necessity. 
No  want  was  known  to  me; 
Without  disturbance  then  I  did  receive 

The  fair  ideas  of  all  things. 
And  had  the  honey  even  without  the  stings. 

A  meditating  inward  eye 
Gazing  at  quiet  did  within  me  lie. 

And  every  thing 
Delighted  me  that  was  their  heavenly  King. 

For  sight  inherits  beauty,  hearing  sounds. 
The  nostril  sweet  perfumes. 
All  tastes  have  hidden  rooms 
Within  the  tongue:  and  feeling  feeling  wounds 

With  pleasure  and  delight;  but  I 
Forgot  the  rest,  and  was  all  sight  or  eye: 
586 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Unbodied  and  devoid  of  care, 
Just  as  in  Heaven  the  holy  Angels  are, 

For  simple  sense 
Is  Lord  of  all  created  excellence. 

Being  thus  prepared  for  all  felicity, 
Not  prepossest  with  dross, 
Nor  stiffly  glued  to  gross 
And  dull  materials  that  might  ruin  me, 

Nor  fretted  by  an  iron  fate 
With  vain  affections  in  my  earthly  state 

To  any  thing  that  might  seduce 
My  sense,  or  else  bereave  it  of  its  use, 

I  was  as  free 
As  if  there  were  nor  sin,  nor  misery. 

Pure  empty  powers  that  did  nothing  loath, 
Did  like  the  fairest  glass, 
Or  spotless  polished  brass, 
Themselves  soon  in  their  object's  image  clothe. 

Divine  impressions  when  they  came 
Did  quickly  enter  and  my  soul  inflame. 

'Tis  not  the  object,  but  the  light 
That  maketh  Heaven:  'tis  a  purer  sight. 

Felicity 
Appears  to  none  but  them  that  purely  see. 

A  disentangled  and  a  naked  sense, 

A  mind  that's  unpossest, 

A  disengaged  breast, 
An  empty  and  a  quick  intelligence 
Acquainted  with  the  golden  mean. 


587 


THE  BOOK  OF 

An  even  spirit  pure  and  serene, 

Is  that  where  beauty,  excellence. 
And  pleasure  keep  their  Court  of  Residence. 

My  soul  retire. 
Get  free,  and  so  thou  shalt  even  all  admire. 

.     T.  Trahernc 


324.  Song 

A  H,  fading  joy!  how  quickly  art  thou  past! 
•*■   *-     Yet  we  thy  ruin  haste. 
As  if  the  cares  of  human  life  were  few, 

We  seek  out  new: 
And  follow  fate  that  does  too  fast  pursue. 

See  how  on  every  bough  the  birds  express 
In  their  sweet  notes  their  happiness. 
They  all  enjoy  and  nothing  spare, 

But  on  their  mother  nature  lay  their  care: 

Why  then  should  man,  the  lord  of  all  below, 
Such  troubles  choose  to  know 

As  none  of  all  his  subjects  undergo  ? 

Hark,  hark,  the  waters  fall,  fall,  fall, 
And  with  a  murmuring  sound 
Dash,  dash,  upon  the  ground. 
To  gentle  slumbers  call. 

/.  Dryden 

588 


RliSrORATlON  VERSE 

J25.  Hymn   to  Darkness 

1   T  AIL,  thou  most  sacred  venerable  thing! 
*•  -*-      What  Muse  is  worthy  thee  to  sing  ? 
Thee,  from  whose  pregnant  universal  womb 
All  things,  even  Light,  thy  rival,  first  did  come. 
What  dares  he  not  attempt  that  sings  of  thee. 

Thou  first  and  greatest  mystery  ? 
Who  can  the  secrets  of  thv  essence  tell  ? 
Thou,  like  the  light  of  God,  art  inaccessible. 

Before  great  Love  this  monument  did  raise, 

This  ample  theatre  of  praise; 
Before  the  folding  circles  of  the  sky 
Were  tuned  by  Him  who  is  all  harmony; 
Before  the  morning  stars  their  hymn  began 

Before  the  council  held  for  man; 
Before  the  birth  of  either  Time  or  Place 
Thou  reign'st  unquestioned  monarch  in  the  empty  space. 

Thy  native  lot  thou  didst  to  Light  resign, 

But  still  half  of  the  globe  is  thine. 
Here  with  a  quiet,  and  yet  awful  hand. 
Like  the  best  emperors,  thou  dost  command. 
To  thee  the  stars  above  the  brightness  owe. 

And  mortals  their  repose  below. 
To  thy  protection  Fear  and  Sorrow  flee 
And  those  that  weary  are  of  light  find  rest  in  thee. 

Though  light  and  glory  be  th'  Almighty's  throne, 
Darkness  is  his  pavilion. 

589 


THE  BOOK  OF 

From  that  his  radiant  beauty,  but  from  thee 

He  has  his  terrour  and  his  majesty. 

Thus  when  he  first  proclaimed  his  sacred  law, 

And  would  his  rebel  subjects  awe, 
Like  princes  on  some  great  solemnity, 
H'  appeared  in  's  robes  of  state  and  clad  himself  with  thee. 

The  blest  above  do  thy  sweet  umbrage  prize. 
When,  cloyed  with  light,  they  veil  their  eyes; 

The  vision  of  the  Deity  is  made 

More  sweet  and  beatific  by  thy  shade. 

But  we,  poor  tenants  of  this  orb  below 
Don't  here  thy  excellencies  know, 

Till  death  our  understandings  does  improve 
And  then  our  wiser  ghosts  thy  silent  night-walks  love. 

But  thee  I  now  admire,  thee  would  I  choose 

For  my  religion,  or  my  Muse. 
'Tis  hard  to  tell  whether  thy  reverend  shade 
Has  more  good  votaries  or  poets  made. 
From  thy  dark  caves  were  inspirations  given. 

And  from  thick  groves  went  vows  to  Heaven. 
Hail  then,  thou  Muse's  and  devotion's  spring! 
'Tis  just  we  should  adore,  'tis  just  we  should  thee  sing. 

/.  Norris,  of  Bemerton 

^26.  Sonnet 

\\TWKT  has  this  bugbear  Death  that's  worth  our  care  ? 
^  *       After  a  life  in  pain  and  sorrow  past, 
Atter  deluding  hope  and  dire  despair. 
Death  only  gives  us  quiet  at  the  last. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

How  strangely  are  our  love  and  hate  misplaced! 

Freedom  we  seek,  and  yet  from  freedom  flee; 
Courting  those  tyrant-sins  that  cliain  us  fast, 

And  shunning  Death,  that  only  sets  us  free. 

'Tis  not  a  foolish  fear  of  future  pains, 

(Why  should  they  fear  who  keep  their  souls  from  stains  ?) 

That  makes  me  dread  thy  terrors,  Death,  to  see: 
'Tis  not  the  loss  of  riches,  or  of  fame, 
Or  the  vain  toys  the  vulgar  pleasures  name; 

'Tis  nothing,  Caelia,  but  losing  thee. 

W.   Walsh 


S-7'  Death — a  Song 


r\   THE  sad  day! 

^-^        When  friends  shall  shake  their  heads,  and  say 

Of  miserable  me — 

'Hark,  how  he  groans! 
Look,  how  he  pants  for  breath! 
See  how  he  struggles  with  the  pangs  of  death!' 
When  they  shall  say  of  these  dear  eyes — 
'How  hollow,  O  how  dim  they  be! 
Mark  how  his  breast  doth  rise  and  swell 
Against  his  potent  enemy!' 

When  some  old  friend  shall  step  to  my  bedside, 
Touch  my  chill  face,  and  thence  shall  gently  slide, 
And — when  his  next  companions  say 
'How  does  he  do  ?  What  hopes  V — shall  turn  away, 

.  59T 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Answering  only,  with  a  lift-up  hand — 
'Who  can  his  fate  withstand  ?' 

Then  shall  a  gasp  or  two  do  more 
Then  e'er  my  rhetoric  could  before: 
Persuade  the  world  to  trouble  me  no  more! 

T .  Flatman 


S28.  Song  of  the  Priestesses 

at  the  Tomb    of  Argaces 

^LEEP,  ye  great  Manes  of  the  dead! 
*^     Whilst  our  solemn  round  we  tread; 
Whilst  at  our  cell,  as  at  a  shrine, 
We  nightly  wait  with  rites  divine. 
Whilst,  to  adorn  the  tomb,  we  bring 
The  earliest  glories  of  the  Spring; 
And  sweetest  softest  anthems  sing. 
The  floor,  with  hallowed  drops  bedewing; 
And  all  around  fresh  roses  strewing. 

Ye  Guardian  Powers,  that  here  resort, 

For  ever  make  this  cell  your  Court. 

If  devoutest  prayers  invite  ye. 

Or  Sabaean  gums  delight  ye; 

Then  make  this  sacred  Urn  your  care, 

And  nightly  to  this  cell  repair. 

To  least  on  frankincense  and  prayer. 

Around  we  go,  the  floor  bedewing; 

Violets,  pinks,  and  roses  strewing. 


N.  Tate 


592. 


RESTORAIION  VERSE 

S2g.  On  His  Mistress  Drowned 

ClWEET  stream,  that  dost  with  equal  pace, 
*^      Both  thyself  fly  and  thyself  chase, 
Forbear  a  while  to  flow; 
And  listen  to  my  woe. 

Then  go,  and  tell  the  sea:  That  all  its  brine 

Is  fresh,  compared  to  mine; 
Inform  it,  that  the  gentler  dame, 

Who  was  the  life  of  all  my  flame. 

In  th'  glory  of  her  bud. 

Has  passed  the  fatal  flood; 
Death,  by  this  only  stroke,  triumphs  above 

The  greatest  power  of  love. 

Alas!  alas!  I  must  give  o'er; 
My  sighs  will  let  me  add  no  more. 
Go  on,  sweet  stream,  and  henceforth  rest 
No  more  than  does  my  troubled  breast. 
And  if  my  sad  complaints  have  made  thee  stay: 
These  tears,  these  tears,  shall  mend  thy  way. 

T .  Sprat,  Bishop  of  Rochester 

jjo.  Epitaph  on   Charles  II 

1   T  ERE  lies  our  Sovereign  Lord  the  King, 
■*■  -*-     Whose  word  no  man  relies  on, 
Who  never  said  a  foolish  thing. 
Nor  ever  did  a  wise  one. 

/.    ff'ilntot,  Earl  of  Rochester 

593 


THE  BOOK  OF 

5^7.    To   the  Memory  of  Mr.   Oldham 

T^AREWELL,  too  little  and  too  lately  known, 

-*-        Whom  I  began  to  think  and  call  my  own: 

For  sure  our  souls  were  near  allied,  and  thine 

Cast  in  the  same  poetic  mould  with  mine. 

One  common  note  on  either  lyre  did  strike. 

And  knaves  and  fools  we  both  abhorred  alike. 

To  the  same  goal  did  both  our  studies  drive: 

The  last  set  out  the  soonest  did  arrive. 

Thus  Nisus  fell  upon  the  slippery  place. 

While  his  young  friend  prrformed  and  won  the  race. 

O  early  ripe!  to  thy  abundant  store 

What  could  advancing  age  have  added  more  ."* 

It  might  (what  nature  never  gives  the  young) 

Have  taught  the  numbers  of  thy  native  tongue 

But  satire  needs  not  those,  and  wit  will  shine 

Through  the  harsh  cadence  of  a  rugged  line. 

A  noble  error,  and  but  seldom  made, 

When  poets  are  by  too  much  force  betrayed. 

Thy  generous  fruits,  though  gathered  ere  their  prime, 

Still  showed  a  quickness;  and  maturing  time 

But  mellows  what  we  write  to  the  dull  sweets  of  rhyme. 

Once  more,  hail  and  farewell!  farewell,  thou  young, 

But  ah!  too  short,  Marcellus  of  our  tongue! 

Thy  brows  with  ivy,  and  with  laurels  bound; 

But  fate  and  gloomy  night  encompass  thee  around. 

/.  Dryden 


594 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

JJ2.  On  the  Death  of  frailer 

T  TOW  to  thy  sacred  memory  shall  I  bring, 
■■-  -*■     Worthy  thy  fame,  a  grateful  offering  ? 
I,  who  by  toils  of  sickness  am  become 
Almost  as  near  as  thou  art  to  a  tomb. 
While  every  soft  and  every  tender  strain 
Is  ruffled  and  ili-natured  grown  with  pain  ? 
But  at  thy  name  my  languished  muse  revives, 
And  a  new  spark  in  the  dull  ashes  strives; 
I  hear  thy  tuneful  verse,  thy  song  divine, 
And  am  inspired  by  every  charming  line. 
But  oh! 

What  inspiration,  at  the  second  hand, 
Can  an  immortal  elegy  command  ? 
Unless,  like  pious  offerings,  mine  should  be 
Made  sacred,  being  consecrate  to  thee. 

Eternal  as  thy  own  almighty  verse. 

Should  be  those  trophies  that  adorn  thy  hearse, 

The  thought  illustrious  and  the  fancy  young. 

The  wit  sublime,  the  judgment  fine  and  strong. 

Soft  as  thy  notes  to  Sacharissa  sung; 

Whilst  mine,  like  transitory  flowers,  decay. 

That  come  to  deck  thy  tomb  a  short-lived  day, 

Such  tributes  are,  like  tenures,  only  fit 

To  show  from  whom  we  hold  our  right  to  wit. 

Long  did  the  untuned  world  in  ignorance  stray, 
Producing  nothing  that  was  great  and  gay. 
Till  taught  by  thee  the  true  poetic  way; 

595 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Rough  were  the  tracks  before,  dull  and  obscure, 
Nor  pleasure  nor  instruction  could  procure; 
Their  thoughtless  labours  could  no  passion  move, 
Sure,  in  that  age,  the  poets  knew  not  love. 
That  charming  god,  like  apparitions,  then. 
Was  only  talked  on,  but  ne'er  seen  by  men. 
Darkness  was  o'er  the  Muses'  land  displayed, 
And  even  the  chosen  tribe  unguided  strayed. 
Till,  by  thee  rescued  from  the  Egyptian  night. 
They  now  look  up  and  view  the  god  of  light. 
That  taught  them  how  to  love,  and  how  to  write. 

A.  Behn 

S33-       To   the  Pious  Memory   of  the 

Accomplished   Young  Lady 

Mrs.   Anne  KiUigrew 

Excellent  in   the   Tzvo  Sister  Arts   of 

Poesy  and  Painting 

An   Ode 

'T~^HOU  youngest  virgin-daughter  of  the  skies, 
-'■        Made  in  the  last  promotion  of  the  blest; 
Whose  palms,  new  plucked  from  Paradise, 
In  spreading  branches  more  sublimely  rise. 

Rich  with  immortal  green  above  the  rest; 
Whether,  adopted  to  some  neighbouring  star, 
Thou  roH'st  above  us  in  thy  wandering  race, 

Or,  in  procession  fixed  and  regular 
Moved  with  the  heaven's  majestic  pace; 

Or,  called  to  more  superior  bliss. 
Thou  tread'st  with  seraphims  the  vast  abyss: 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Whatever  happy  region  be  thy  place, 

Cease  thy  celestial  song  a  little  space; 

Thou  wilt  have  time  enough  for  hymns  divine, 

Since  Heaven's  eternal  year  is  thine. 

Hear,  then,  a  mortal  Muse  thy  praise  rehearse. 

In  no  ignoble  verse. 
But  such  as  thy  own  voice  did  practise  here. 
When  thy  first  fruits  of  poesy  were  given, 
To  make  thyself  a  welcome  inmate  there; 
While  yet  a  young  probationer, 

A  candidate  of  Heaven. 

If  by  traduction  came  thy  mind, 

Our  wonder  is  the  less  to  find 
A  soul  so  charming  from  a  stock  so  good; 
Thy  father  was  transfused  into  thy  blood: 
So  wert  thou  born  into  a  tuneful  strain. 
An  early,  rich,  and  inexhausted  vein. 

But  if  thy  pre-existing  soul 
Was  formed  at  first  with  myriads  more. 

It  did  through  all  the  mighty  poets  roll 
Who  Greek  or  Latin  laurels  wore. 

And  was  that  Sappho  last,  which  once  it  was  before. 

If  so,  then  cease  thy  flight,  O  heaven-born  mind! 
Thou  hast  no  dross  to  purge  from  thy  rich  ore: 

Nor  can  thy  soul  a  fairer  mansion  find 

Than  was  the  beautious  frame  she  left  behind: 

Return,  to  fill  or  mend  the  quire  of  thy  celestial  kind. 

May  we  presume  to  say,  that,  at  thy  birth. 
New  joy  was  sprung  in  heaven  as  well  as  here  on  earth  ? 

597 


THE  BOOK  OF 

For  sure  the  milder  planet;?  did  combine 
On  thy  auspicious  horoscope  to  shine, 
And  even  the  most  malicious  were  in  trine 
Thy  brother-angels  at  thy  birth 

Strung  each  his  lyre,  and  tuned  it  high, 
That  all  the  people  of  the  sky 
Might  know  a  poetess  was  born  on  earth; 
And  then,  if  ever,  mortal  ears 
Had  heard  the  music  of  the  spheres. 
And  if  no  clustering  swarm  of  bees 
On  thy  sweet  mouth  distilled  their  golden  dew, 
'Twas  that  such  vulgar  miracles 
Heaven  had  not  leisure  to  renew: 
For  all  the  blest  fraternity  of  love 
Solemnised  there  thy  birth,  and  kept  thy  holiday  above. 


O  gracious  God!  how  far  have  we 
Profaned  thy  heavenly  gift  of  Poesy! 
Made  prostitute  and  profligate  the  Muse, 
Debased  to  each  obscene  and  impious  use. 
Whose  harmony  was  first  ordained  above, 
For  tongues  of  angels  and  for  hymns  of  love! 
O  wretched  Vv'e!  why  were  we  hurried  down 

This  lubric  and  adulterate  age, 
(Nay,  added  fat  pollutions  of  our  own), 

To  increase  the  streaming  ordures  of  the  stage  ? 
What  can  we  say  to  excuse  our  second  fall  ? 
Let  this  thy  Vestal,  Heaven,  atone  for  all: 
Her  Arethusian  stream  remains  unsoiled. 
Unmixed  with  foreign  filth,  and  undefiled; 
Her  wit  was  more  than  man,  her  innocence  a  child. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Art  she  had  none,  3et  wanted  none, 
For  Nature  did  that  want  supply: 
So  rich  in  treasures  of  her  own. 
She  might  our  boasted  stores  defy: 
Such  noble  vigour  did  her  verse  adorn 
That  it  seemed  borrowed,  where  'twas  only  born. 
Her  morals,  too,  were  in  her  bosom  bred. 

By  great  examples  daily  fed, 
What  in  the  best  of  books,  her  father's  life,  she  read. 
And  to  be  read  herself  she  need  not  ftar; 
Each  test,  and  every  light,  her  Muse  will  bear, 
Though  Epictetus  with  his  lamp  were  there. 
Even  love  (for  love  sometimes  her  Muse  exprest), 
Was  but  a  lambent  flame  which  played  about  her  breast; 
Light  as  the  vapours  of  a  morning  dream, 
So  cold  herself,  whilst  she  such  warmth  exprest, 
'Twas  Cupid  bathing  in  Diana's  stream. 


Born  to  the  spacious  empire  of  the  Nine, 
One  would  have  thought  she  should  have  been  content 
To  manage  well  that  mighty  government; 
But  what  can  young  ambitious  souls  confine  ? 
To  the  next  realm  she  stretched  her  sway, 
For  Painture  near  adjoining  lay, 
A  plenteous  province  and  alluring  prey. 
A  Chamber  of  Dependences  was  framed, 
(As  conquerors  will  never  want  pretence, 

When  armed,  to  justify  the  offence). 
And  the  whole  fief  in  right  of  Poetry  she  claimed. 

The  country  open  lay  without  defence; 
For  poets  frequent  inroads  there  had  made, 

599 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  perfectly  could  represent 

The  shape,  the  face,  with  every  lineament. 
And  all  the  large  demains  which  the  dumb  Sister  swayed, 

All  bowed  beneath  her  government; 

Received  in  triumph  wheresoe'er  she  went. 
Her  pencil  drew  whate'er  her  soul  designed, 
And  oft  the  happy  draught  surpassed  the  image  in  her  mind 

The  sylvan  scenes  of  herds  and  flocks 

And  fruitful  plains  and  barren  rocks; 

Of  shallow  brooks  that  flowed  so  clear, 

The  bottom  did  the  top  appear; 

Of  deeper  too  and  ampler  floods 

Which,  as  in  mirrors,  showed  the  woods; 

Of  lofty  trees,  with  sacred  shades, 

And  perspectives  of  pleasant  glades. 

Where  nymphs  of  brightest  form  appear, 

With  shaggy  satyrs  standing  near, 

Which  them  at  once  admire  and  fear. 

The  ruins  too  of  some  majestic  piece. 

Boasting  the  power  of  ancient  Rome,  or  Greece, 

Whose  statues,  friezes,  columns,  broken  lie, 

And,  though  defaced,  the  wonder  of  the  eye; 

What  nature,  art,  bold  fiction,  e'er  durst  frame, 

Her  forming  Viand  gave  feature  to  the  name. 

So  strange  a  concourse  ne'er  was  seen  before, 
But  when  the  peopled  ark  the  whole  creation  bore. 


The  scene  then  changed;  with  bold  erected  look 
Our  martial  King  the  sight  with  reverence  strook: 
For,  not  content  t'  express  his  outward  part. 
Her  hand  called  out  the  image  of  his  heart: 
600 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

His  warlike  mind,  his  soul  devoid  of  fear, 

His  high-designing  thoughts  were  figured  there, 

As  when  by  magic  ghosts  are  made  t'appear. 

Our  Phoenix  queen  was  portrayed  too  so  bright, 
Beauty  alone  could  beauty  take  so  right: 
Her  dress,  her  shape,  her  matchless  grace, 
Were  all  observed,  as  well  as  heavenly  face. 
With  such  a  peerless  majesty  she  stands, 
As  in  that  day  she  took  the  crown  from  sacred  hands; 
Before  a  train  of  heroines  was  seen, 
In  beauty  foremost,  as  in  rank  the  queen. 

Thus  nothing  to  her  genius  was  denied, 
But  like  a  ball  of  fire,  the  further  thrown. 
Still  with  a  greater  blaze  she  shone. 

And  her  bright  soul  broke  out  on  every  side. 
What  next  she  had  designed.  Heaven  only  knows: 
To  such  immoderate  growth  her  conquest  rose 
That  Fate  alone  its  progress  could  oppose. 


Now  all  those  charms,  that  blooming  grace, 
The  well-proportioned  shape  and  beautious  face, 
Shall  never  more  be  seen  by  mortal  eyes; 
In  earth  the  much-lamented  virgin  lies. 

Not  wit  nor  piety  could  Fate  prevent; 

Nor  was  the  cruel  Destiny  content 

To  finish  all  the  murder  at  a  blow. 

To  sweep  at  once  her  life  and  beauty  too; 
But,  like  a  hardened  felon,  took  a  pride 

To  work  more  mischievously  slow. 
And  plundered  first,  and  then  destroyed. 

60 1 


THE  BOOK  OF 

O  double  sacrilege  on  things  divine, 
To  rob  the  relic,  and  deface  the  shrine! 

But  thus  Orinda  died: 
Heaven,  by  the  same  disease  did  both  translate; 
As  equal  was  their  souls,  so  equal  was  their  fate. 

Meantime,  her  warlike  brother  on  the  seas 
His  waving  streamers  to  the  winds  displays, 
And  vows  for  his  return,  with  vain  devotion,  pays. 
Ah,  generous  youth!  that  wish  forbear. 
The  winds  too  soon  will  waft  thee  here! 
Slack  all  thy  sails,  and  fear  to  come; 
Alas!  thou  know'st  not,  thou  art  wrecked  at  home 
No  more  shalt  thou  behold  thy  sister's  face. 
Thou  hast  already  had  her  last  embrace. 
But  look  aloft,  and  if  thou  kenn'st  from  far, 
Among  the  Pleiads,  a  new-kindled  star. 
If  any  sparkles  than  the  rest  more  bright, 
'Tis  she  that  shines  in  that  propitious  light. 

When,  in  mid-air  the  golden  trump  shall  sound 

To  raise  the  nations  under  ground; 

When,  in  the  Valley  of  Jehosaphat 
The  judging  God  shall  close  the  book  of  Fate, 

And  there  the  last  assizes  keep 

For  those  who  wake  and  those  who  sleep; 

When  rattling  bones  together  fly 

From  the  four  corners  of  the  sky; 
When  sinews  o'er  the  skeletons  are  spread, 
Those  clothed  with  flesh,  and  life  inspires  the  dead; 
The  sacred  poets  first  shall  hear  the  sound. 
And  foremost  from  the  tomb  shall  bound, 
602 


RESTORAllON  VERSE 

For  they  are  covered  with  the  Hghtest  ground; 
And  straight,  with  inborn  vigour,  on  the  wing, 
Like  mounting  larks,  to  the  new  morning  sing. 
There  thou,  sweet  saint,  before  the  quire  shalt  go, 
As  harbinger  of  Heaven,  the  way  to  show. 
The  way  which  thou  so  well  hast  learned  below. 

/.  Dryden 


S3 4.  To  His  Book 

f~^  O,  little  book,  and  to  the  world  impart 
^-^      The  faithful  image  of  an  amorous  heart: 
Those  who  love's  dear,  deluding  pains  have  known 
May  in  my  fatal  stories  read  their  own. 
Those  who  have  lived  from  all  its  torments  free, 
May  find  the  thing  they  never  felt,  from  me. 
Perhaps,  advised,  avoid  the  gilded  bait. 
And,  warned  by  my  example,  shun  my  fate. 
While  with  calm  joy,  safe  landed  on  the  coast, 
I  view  the  waves  on  which  I  once  was  tost. 
Love  is  a  medley  of  endearments,  jars. 
Suspicions,  quarrels,  reconcilements,  wars; 
Then  peace  again.  Oh!  would  it  not  be  best 
To  chase  the  fatal  passion  from  our  breast  ? 
But,  since  so  few  can  live  from  passion  free, 
Happy  the  man,  and  only  happy  he. 
Who  with  such  lucky  stars  begins  his  love. 
That  his  cool  judgment  does  his  choice  approve. 
Ill-grounded  passions  quickly  wear  away; 
What's  built  upon  esteem  can  ne'er  decay. 

W.   Walsh 
603 


The  Book  of  Restoration  Verse 

Book  Fourth 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

JJ5.      A  Description  of  the  Morning 

IV  T  OW  hardly  here  and  there  a  hackney-coach 

^  ^      Appearing,  show'd  the  ruddy  morn's  approach. 

The  shp-shod  'prentice  from  his  master's  door 

Had  pared  the  dirt,  and  sprinkled  round  the  floor. 

Now  Moll  had  whirl'd  her  mop  with  dext'rous  airs, 

Prepared  to  scrub  the  entry  and  the  stairs. 

The  youth  with  broomy  stumps  began  to  trace 

The  kennel's  edge,  where  wheels  had  worn  the  place. 

The  small-coal  man  was  heard  with  cadence  deep, 

Till  drown'd  in  shriller  notes  of  chimney-sweep; 

Duns  at  his  lordship's  gate  began  to  meet; 

And  brickdust  Moll  had  scream'd  through  half  the  street. 

The  turnkey  now  his  flock  returning  sees, 

Duly  let  out  a-nights  to  steal  for  fees: 

The  watchful  bailiffs  take  their  silent  stands, 

And  schoolboys  lag  with  satchels  in  their  hands. 

J.  Swift 

jj<5.  Jn  Epistle  to   the  Right 

Honourable  the  Earl  of  Burlington 

A  Journey  to  Exeter 

\  yl  7HILE  you,  my  Lord,  bid  stately  piles  ascend, 

*  '       Or  in  your  Chiswick  bowers  enjoy  your  friend; 
Where  Pope  unloads  the  boughs  within  his  reach. 
The  purple  vine,  blue  plum,  and  blushing  peach; 
I  journey  far. — You  knew  fat  bards  might  tire, 
And,  mounted,  sent  me  forth  your  trusty  Squire. 

607 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Twas  on  the  day  that  city  dames  repair 
To  take  their  weekly  dose  of  Hyde-Park  air; 
When  forth  we  trot:  no  carts  the  road  infest, 
For  still  on  Sundays  country  horses  rest. 
Thy  gardens,  Kensington,  we  leave  unseen; 
Through  Hammersmith  jog  on  to  Turnham  Green: 
That  Turnham  Green,  which  dainty  pigeons  fed, 
But  feeds  no  more:  for  Solomon  is  dead. 
Three  dusty  miles  reach  Brentford's  tedious  town. 
For  dirty  streets  and  white-legg'd  chickens  known: 
Thence  o'er  wide  shrubby  heaths,  and  furrow'd  lanes. 
We  come,  where  Thames  divides  the  meads  of  Staines. 
We  ferried  o'er;  for  late  the  winter's  flood 
Shook  her  frail  bridge,  and  tore  her  piles  of  wood. 
Prepared  for  war,  now  Bagshot  Heath  we  cross, 
Where  broken  gamesters  oft  repair  their  loss. 
At  Hartley  Row  the  foaming  bit  we  prest. 
While  the  fat  landlord  welcomed  ev'ry  guest. 
Supper  was  ended,  healths  the  glasses  crown'd, 
Our  host  extoll'd  his  wine  at  ev'ry  round, 
Relates  the  Justices'  late  meeting  there, 
How  many  bottles  drank,  and  what  their  cheer; 
What  lords  had  been  his  guests  in  days  of  yore. 
And  praised  their  wisdom  much,  their  drinking  more. 


Let  travellers  the  morning  vigils  keep: 
The  morning  rose,  but  we  lay  fast  asleep. 
Twelve  tedious  miles  we  bore  the  sultry  sun, 
And  Popham  Lane  was  scarce  in  sight  by  one: 
The  straggling  village  harbour'd  thieves  of  old, 
'Twas  here  the  stage-coach'd  lass  resign'd  her  gold; 
608 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

That  gold  which  had  in  London  purchased  gowns, 

And  sent  her  home  a  belle  to  country  towns. 

But  robbers  haunt  no  more  the  neighbouring  wood; 

Here  unown'd  infants  find  their  daily  food; 

For  should  the  maiden  mother  nurse  her  son, 

'Twould  spoil  her  match,  when  her  good  name  is  gone. 

Our  jolly  hostess  nineteen  children  bore. 

Nor  fail'd  her  breast  to  suckle  nineteen  more. 

Be  just,  ye  prudes,  wipe  off  the  long  arrear: 

Be  virgins  still  in  town,  but  mothers  here. 

Sutton  we  pass,  and  leave  her  spacious  down, 
And  with  the  setting  sun  reach  Stockbridge  toyn. 
O'er  our  parch'd  tongue  the  rich  metheglin  glides, 
And  the  red  dainty  trout  our  knife  divides. 
Sad  melancholy  ev'ry  visage  wears; 
What,  no  election  come  in  seven  long  years! 
Of  all  our  race  of  Mayors,  shall  Snow  alone 
Be  by  Sir  Richard's  dedication  known  ? 
Our  streets  no  more  with  tides  of  ale  shall  float, 
Nor  cobblers  feast  three  years  upon  one  vote. 

Next  morn,  twelve  miles  led  o'er  th'  unbounded  plain, 
Where  the  cloak'd  shepherd  guides  his  fleecy  train. 
No  leafy  bowers  a  noonday  shelter  lend. 
Nor  from  the  chilly  dews  at  night  defend: 
With  wondrous  art  he  counts  the  straggling  flock. 
And  by  the  sun  informs  you  what's  o'clock. 
How  are  our  shepherds  fall'n  from  ancient  days! 
No  Amaryllis  chaunts  alternate  lays; 
From  her  no  list'ning  echoes  learn  to  sing. 
Nor  with  his  reed  the  jocund  valleys  ring. 

609 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Here  sheep  the  pasture  hide,  there  harvests  bend, 
See  Sarum's  steeple  o'er  yon  hill  ascend; 
Our  horses  faintly  trot  beneath  the  heat, 
And  our  keen  stomachs  know  the  hour  to  eat. 
Who  can  forsake  thy  walls,  and  not  admire 
The  proud  cathedral,  and  the  lofty  spire  ? 
What  sempstress  has  not  proved  thy  scissors  good  ? 
From  hence  first  came  th'  intriguing  riding-hood. 
Amid  three  boarding-schools  well  stock'd  with  misses. 
Shall  three  knights-er  ant  starve  for  want  of  kisses  ? 

O'er  the  green  turf  the  miles  slide  swift  away, 
And  Blanford  ends  the  labours  of  the  day. 
The  morning  rose;  the  supper  reck'ning  paid, 
And  our  due  fees  discharged  to  man  and  maid, 
The  ready  ostler  near  the  stirrup  stands, 
And  as  we  mount,  our  half-pence  load  his  hands. 

Now  the  steep  hill  fair  Dorchester  o'erlooks, 
Border'd  by  meads,  and  wash'd  by  silver  brooks. 
Here  sleep  my  two  companions'  eyes  supprest, 
And  propt  in  elbow  chairs  they  snoring  rest; 
I  weary  sit,  and  with  my  pencil  trace 
Their  painful  postures,  and  their  eyeless  face; 
Then  dedicate  each  glass  to  some  fair  name. 
And  on  the  sash  the  diamond  scrawls  my  flame. 
Now  o'er  true  Roman  way  our  horses  sound, 
Graevius  would  kneel,  and  kiss  the  sacred  ground. 
On  either  side  low  fertile  valleys  lie. 
The  distant  prospects  tire  the  trav'ling  eye. 
Through  Bridport's  stony  lanes  our  route  we  take. 
And  the  proud  steep  descend  to  Marcombe's  lake. 
6lo 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

As  hearses  pass'd,  our  landlord  robb'd  the  pall, 
And  with  the  mournful  scutcheon  hung  his  hall. 
On  unadulterate  wine  we  here  regale, 
And  strip  the  lobster  of  his  scarlet  mail. 

We  climb'd  the  hills  when  starry  night  arose, 
And  Axminster  affords  a  kind  repose. 
The  maid,  subdued  by  fees,  her  trunk  unlocks, 
And  gives  the  cleanly  aid  of  dowlas  smocks. 
Meantime  our  shirts  her  busy  fingers  rub, 
While  the  soap  lathers  o'er  the  foaming  tub. 
If  women's  gear  such  pleasing  dreams  incite. 
Lend  us  your  smocks,  ye  damsels,  ev'ry  night! 
We  rise;  our  beards  demand  the  barber's  art; 
A  female  enters  and  performs  the  part. 
The  weighty  golden  chain  adorns  her  neck. 
And  three  gold  rings  her  skilful  hand  bedeck: 
Smooth  o'er  our  chin  her  easy  fingers  move. 
Soft  as  when  Venus  stroked  the  beard  of  Jove. 

Now  from  the  steep,  midst  scatter'd  cots  and  groves. 
Our  eye  through  Honiton's  fair  valley  roves. 
Behind  us  soon  the  busy  town  we  leave. 
Where  finest  lace  industrious  lasses  weave. 
Now  swelling  clouds  roU'd  on;  the  rainy  load 
Stream'd  down  our  hats,  and  smoked  along  the  road; 
When  (O  blest  sight!)  a  friendly  sign  we  spied. 
Our  spurs  are  slacken'd  from  the  horses's  side; 
For  sure  a  civil  host  the  house  commands. 
Upon  whose  sign  this  courteous  motto  stands, 
'This  is  the  ancient  hand,  and  eke  thfe  pen; 
Here  is  for  horses  hay,  and  meat  for  men.' 

6ll 


THE  BOOK  OF 

How  rhyme  would  flourish,  did  each  son  of  fame 

Know  his  own  genius,  and  direct  his  flame! 

Then  he,  that  could  not  epic  flights  rehearse, 

Might  sweetly  mourn  in  elegiac  verse. 

But  were  his  Muse  for  elegy  unfit, 

Perhaps  a  distich  might  not  strain  his  wit; 

If  epigram  off'end,  his  harmless  lines 

Might  in  gold  letters  swing  on  ale-house  signs. 

Then  Hobbinol  might  propagate  his  bays, 

And  Tuttlefields  record  his  simple  lays; 

Where  rhymes  like  these  might  lure  the  nurse's  eyes, 

While  gaping  infants  squawl  for  farthing  pies. 

Treat  here,  ye  shepherds  blithe,  your  damsels  sweet, 

For  pies  and  cheesecakes,  are  for  damsels  meet. 

Then  Maurus  in  his  proper  sphere  might  shine, 

And  these  proud  numbers  grace  great  William's  sign. 

This  is  the  man,  this  the  Nassovian,  whom 

'I  named  the  brave  deliverer  to  come.* 

But  now  the  driving  gales  suspend  the  rain. 

We  mount  our  steeds,  and  Devon's  city  gain. 

Hail,  happy  native  land! — but  I  forbear, 

What  other  counties  must  with  envy  hear. 

5 J 7.    A  Description  of  a  City  Shower 

/'^^AREFUL  observers  may  foretell  the  hour, 
^-^      (By  sure  prognostics,)  when  to  dread  a  shower. 
While  rain  depends,  the  pensive  cat  gives  o'er 
Her  frolics,  and  pursues  her  tail  no  more. 
Returning  home  at  night,  you'll  find  the  sink 
Strike  your  offended  sense  with  double  stink. 
612 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

If'  vou  be  wise,  then,  go  not  far  to  dine: 
You'll  spend  in  coach-hire  more  than  save  in  wine. 
A  coming  shower  your  shooting  corns  presage. 
Old  aches  will  throb,  your  hollow  tooth  will  rage; 
Sauntering  in  coffee-house  in  Dulman  seen; 
He  damns  the  climate,  and  complains  of  spleen. 
Meanwhile  the  South,  rising  with  dabbled  wings, 
A  sable  cloud  athwart  the  welkin  flings, 
That  swill'd  more  liquor  than  it  could  contain, 
And,  like  a  drunkard,  gives  it  up  again. 
Brisk  Susan  whips  her  linen  from  the  rope, 
While  the  first  drizzling  shower  is  borne  aslope; 
Such  is  that  sprinkling  which  some  careless  quean 
Flirts  on  you  from  her  mop,  but  not  so  clean: 
You  fly,  invoke  the  gods;  then,  turning,  stop 
To  rail;  she  singing,  still  whirls  on  her  mop. 
Not  yet  the  dust  had  shunned  the  equal  strife. 
But,  aided  by  the  wind,  fought  still  for  life. 
And  wafted  with  its  foe  by  violent  gust, 
'Twas  doubtful  which  was  rain,  and  which  was  dust. 
Ah!  where  must  needy  poet  seek  for  aid. 
When  dust  and  rain  at  once  his  coat  invade  ? 
Sole  coat!  where  dust,  cemented  by  the  rain. 
Erects  the  nap,  and  leaves  a  cloudy  stain! 
Now  in  contiguous  drops  the  flood  comes  down. 
Threatening  with  deluge  this  devoted  town. 
To  shops  in  crowds  the  daggled  females  fly. 
Pretend  to  cheapen  goods,  but  nothing  buy. 
The  Templar  spruce,  while  every  spout's  abroach, 
Stavs  till  'tis  fair,  yet  seems  to  call  a  coach. 
The  tucked-up  sempstress  walks  with  hasty  strides. 
While  streams  run  down  her  oiled  umbrella's  sides. 

613 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Here  various  kinds,  by  various  fortunes  led, 

Commence  acquaintance  underneath  a  shed. 

Triumphant  Tories,  and  desponding  Whigs, 

Forget  their  feuds,  and  join  to  save  their  wigs. 

Box'd  in  a  chair  the  beau  impatient  sits, 

While  spouts  run  clattering  o'er  the  roof  by  fits, 

And  ever  and  anon  with  frightful  din 

The  leather  sounds;  he  trembles  from  within. 

So  when  the  Troy  chairmen  bore  the  wooden  steed, 

Pregnant  with  Greeks  impatient  to  be  freed, 

(Those  bully  Greeks,  who,  as  the  moderns  do. 

Instead  of  paying  chairmen,  ran  them  through,) 

Laocoon  struck  the  outside  with  his  spear. 

And  each  imprisoned  hero  quaked  for  fear. 

Now  from  all  parts  the  swelling  kennels  flow, 
And  bear  their  trophies  wi:h  them  as  they  go: 
Filth  of  all  hues  and  odour,  seem  to  tell 
What  street  they  sail'd  from,  by  their  sight  and  smell. 
They,  as  each  torrent  drives  with  rapid  force. 
From  Smithfield  to  St.  PuLhre's  shape  their  course, 
And  in  huge  confluence  join'd  at  Snowhill  ridge. 
Fall  from  the  conduit  prone  to  Holborn  bridge. 
Sweeping  from  butchers'  stalls,  dung,  guts,  and  blood, 
Drown'd  puppies,  stinking  sprats,  all  drench'd  in  mud, 
Dead  cats,  and  turnip-tops,  come  tumbling  down  the  flood. 

/.  Swift 


614 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

5j5.  Hymn  to   Contentment 

T    OVELY,  lasting  peace  of  mind, 
-*— ^     Sweet  delight  of  human-kind, 
Heavenly  born  and  bred  on  high, 
To  crown  the  fav'rites  of  the  sky 
With  more  of  happiness  below 
Than  victors  in  a  triumph  know! 
Whither,  O  whither  art  thou  fled, 
To  lay  thy  meek,  contented  head  ? 
What  happy  region  dost  thou  please 
To  make  the  seat  of  calms  and  ease  ? 
Ambition  searches  all  its  sphere 
Of  pomp  and  state,  to  meet  thee  there. 
Encreasing  avarice  would  find 
Thy  presence  in  its  gold  enshrined. 
The  bold  advent'rer  ploughs  his  way 
Through  rocks  amidst  the  foaming  sea, 
To  gain  thy  love,  and  then  perceives 
Thou  wert  not  in  the  rocks  and  waves. 
The  silent  heart  which  grief  assails 
Treads  soft  and  lonesome  o'er  the  vales, 
Sees  daisies  open,  rivers  run. 
And  seeks,  as  I  have  vainly  done, 
Amusing  thought,  but  learns  to  know 
That  solitude's  the  nurse  of  woe. 
No  real  happiness  is  found 
In  trailing  purple  o'er  the  ground; 
Or  in  a  soul  exalted  high 
To  range  the  circuit  of  the  sky, 
Converse  with  stars  above,  and  know 
All  Nature  in  its  forms  below — 

615 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  rest  it  seeks,  in  seeking  dies, 

And  doubts  at  last,  for  knowledge,  rise. 

Lovely,  lasting  peace,  appear! 

This  world  itself,  if  thou  art  here, 

Is  once  again  with  Eden  blest, 

And  man  contains  it  in  his  breast. 

'Twas  thus,  as  under  shade  I  stood, 
I  sung  my  wishes  to  the  wood. 
And,  lost  in  thought,  no  more  perceived 
The  branches  whisper  as  they  waved; 
It  seemed  as  all  the  quiet  place 
Confessed  the  presence  of  the  Grace; 
When  thus  she  spoke:  'Go  rule  thy  will. 
Bid  thy  wild  passions  all  be  still; 
Know  God,  and  bring  thy  heart  to  know 
The  joys  v/hich  from  religion  flow: 
Then  every  Grace  shall  prove  its  guest, 
And  I'll  be  there  to  crown  the  rest.' 

Oh,  by  yonder  mossy  seat, 
In  my  hours  of  sweet  retreat, 
Might  I  thus  my  soul  employ 
With  sense  of  gratitude  and  joy. 
Raised,  as  ancient  prophets  were. 
In  heavenly  vision,  praise,  and  prayer, 
Pleasing  all  men,  hurting  none. 
Pleased  and  blest  with  God  alone! 
Then,  while  the  gardens  take  my  sight 
With  all  the  colours  of  delight, 
While  silver  waters  glide  along. 
To  please  my  ear  and  court  my  song, 
I'll  lift  my  voice,  and  tune  my  string, 
And  Thee,  great  Source  of  Nature,  sing. 

6i6 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  sun,  that  walks  his  airy  way 
To  light  the  world  and  give  the  day; 
The  moon,  that  shines  with  borrowed  light; 
The  stars,  that  gild  the  gloomy  night; 
The  seas,  that  roll  unnumbered  waves; 
The  wood,  that  spreads  its  shady  leaves; 
The  field,  whose  ears  conceal  the  grain, 
The  yellow  treasure  of  the  plain; 
All  of  these,  and  all  I  see. 
Should  be  sung,  and  sung  by  me: 
They  speak  their  Maker  as  they  can, 
But  want  and  ask  the  tongue  of  man. 
Go  search  among  your  idle  dreams, 
Your  busy  or  your  vain  extremes. 
And  find  a  life  of  equal  bliss. 
Or  own  the  next  begun  in  this. 

T.  Parnell 


339- 


The  Blind  Boy 


/^"^  SAY  what  is  that  thing  call'd  Light, 
^-^     Which  I  must  ne'er  enjoy; 
What  are  the  blessings  of  the  sight, 
O  tell  your  poor  blind  boy! 


You  talk  of  wondrous  things  you  see. 
You  say  the  sun  shines  bright; 

I  feel  him  warm,  but  how  can  he 
Or  make  it  day  or  night  ? 

617 


THE  BOOK  OF 

My  day  or  night  myself  I  make 
Whene'er  I  sleep  or  play; 

And  could  I  ever  keep  awake 
With  me  'twere  always  day. 

With  heavy  sighs  I  often  hear 
You  mourn  my  hapless  woe; 

But  sure  with  patience  I  can  bear 
A  loss  I  ne'er  can  know. 

Then  let  not  what  I  cannot  have 
My  cheer  of  mind  destroy: 

Whilst  thus  I  sing,  I  am  a  king, 
Although  a  poor  blind  boy. 


C.  Cibher 


^/fO.  To  the  Nightingale 

EXERT  thy  voice,  sweet  harbinger  of  Spring! 
This  moment  is  thy  time  to  sing, 
This  moment  I  attend  to  praise. 
And  set  my  numbers  to  thy  lays. 
Free  as  thine  shall  be  my  song; 
As  thy  music,  short  or  long. 
Poets  wild  as  thee  were  born. 

Pleasing  best  when  unconfined. 
When  to  please  is  least  designed, 
Soothing  but  their  cares  to  rest: 
Cares  do  still  their  thoughts  molest. 
And  still  th'  unhappy  poet's  breast. 
Like  thine,  when  best  he  sings,  is  placed  against  a  thorn. 
6l8 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

She  begins,  let  all  be  still! 
Muse,  thy  promise  now  fulfil! 
Sweet,  oh  sweet!  still  sweeter  yet! 
Can  thy  words  such  accents  fit  ? 
Canst  thou  syllables  refine, 
Melt  a  sense  that  shall  retain 
Still  some  spirit  of  the  brain, 
Till  with  sounds  like  these  it  joins  ? 
'Twill  not  be!  then  change  thy  note; 
Let  division  shake  thy  throat: 
Hark!  division  now  she  tries, 
Yet  as  far  the  Muse  outflies. 
Cease  then,  prithee,  cease  thy  tune! 
Trifler,  wilt  thou  sing  till  June? 
Till  thy  business  all  lies  waste, 
And  the  time  of  building's  past? 
Thus  we  poets  that  have  speech, 
Unlike  what  thy  forests  teach, 
If  a  fluent  vein  be  shown 
That's  transcendent  to  our  own, 
Criticise,  reform,  or  preach. 
Or  centure  what  we  cannot  reach. 

Anne,  Countess  of  Winchtlsea 


^41.  The   Tree 

T^AIR  tree,  for  thy  delightful  shade 
-^         'Tis  just  that  some  return  be  made; 
Sure,  some  return  is  due  from  me 
To  thy  cool  shadows  and  to  thee. 

619 


THE  BOOK  OF 

When  thou  to  birds  dost  shelter  give 
Thou  music  dost  from  them  receive; 
If  travellers  beneath  thee  stay 
Till  storms  have  worn  themselves  away. 
That  time  in  praising  thee  they  spend. 
And  thy  protecting  power  commend; 
The  shepherd  here,  from  scorching  freed, 
Tunes  to  thy  dancing  leaves  his  reed, 
Whilst  his  loved  nymph,  in  thanks,  bestows 
Her  flowery  chaplets  on  thy  boughs. 
Shall  I  then  only  silent  be. 
And  no  return  be  made  by  me  ? 
No!  let  this  wish  upon  thee  wait, 
And  still  to  flourish  be  thy  fate; 
To  future  ages  mayst  thou  stand 
Untouched  by  the  rash  workman's  hand, 
Till  that  large  stock  of  sap  is  spent 
Which  gives  thy  summer's  ornament; 
Till  the  fierce  winds,  that  vainly  strive 
To  shock  thy  greatness  whilst  alive. 
Shall  on  thy  lifeless  hour  attend. 
Prevent  the  axe,  and  grace  thy  end, 
Their  scattered  strength  together  call 
And  to  the  clouds  proclaim  thy  fall; 
Who  then  their  evening  dews  may  spare, 
When  thou  no  longer  art  their  care, 
But  shalt,  like  ancient  heroes,  burn, 
And  some  bright  hearth'  be  made  thy  urn. 

Anne,  Cotititrss  of  Uinchtlsea 


620 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

5^2.  To  a  Child  of  Quality 

Five  Years  Old,  1 704.  The  Author  then  Forty 

T    ORDS,  knights,  and  squires,  the  numerous  band 
■'-^     That  wear  the  fair  Miss  Mary's  fetters, 
Were  summoned  by  her  high  command 
To  show  their  passions  by  their  letters. 

My  pen  amongst  the  rest  I  took, 

Lest  those  bright  eyes,  that  cannot  read, 

Should  dart  their  kindhng  fires,  and  look 
The  power  they  have  to  be  obeyed. 

Nor  quality,  nor  reputation. 

Forbid  me  yet  my  flame  to  tell; 
Dear  Five-years-old  befriends  my  passion, 

And  I  may  write  till  she  can  spell. 

For,  while  she  makes  her  silkworms  beds 

With  all  the  tender  things  I  swear; 
Whilst  all  the  house  my  passion  reads. 

In  papers  round  her  baby's  hair; 

She  may  receive  and  own  my  flame; 

For,  though  the  strictest  prudes  should  know  it. 
She'll  pass  for  a  most  virtuous  dame, 

And  I  for  an  unhappy  poet. 

Then  too,  alas!  when  she  shall  tear 

The  lines  some  younger  rival  sends. 
She'll  give  me  leave  to  write,  I  fear. 

And  we  shall  still  continue  friends. 

621 


THE  BOOK  OF 

For,  as  our  different  ages  move, 

'Tis  so  ordained  (would  Fate  but  mend  it!), 
That  I  shall  be  past  making  love 

When  she  begins  to  comprehend  it. 

M.  Prior 


j^j.  A  Letter 

to  the  Honourable  Lady  Miss  Margaret  Cavendish 
Holles-Harley 

IV /TY  noble,  lovely,  little  peggy, 

_      '^      Let  this  my  First  Epistle,  beg  ye, 

At  dawn  of  morn,  and  close  ot  even 

To  lift  your  heart  and  hands  to  Heaven. 

In  double  duty  say  your  prayer: 

Our  Father  first,  then  Notre  Pere. 

And,  dearest  Child,  along  the  day, 

In  every  thing  you  do  and  say. 

Obey  and  please  my  lord  and  lady. 

So  God  shall  love,  and  angels  aid  ye. 

If  to  these  precepts  you  attend, 
No  second  letter  need  I  send. 
And  so  I  rest  your  constant  friend. 

M.  Prior 


622 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

344'  ^ong 

"]\ /FY  days  have  been  so  wondrous  free, 
iVl     -pj^g  Ij^jlg  birds  that  fly 

With  careless  ease  from  tree  to  tree, 
Were  but  as  bless'd  as  I. 

Ask  gliding  waters,  if  a  tear 

Of  mine  increas'd  their  stream  ? 

Or  ask  the  flying  gales,  if  e'er 
I  lent  one  sigh  to  them  ? 

But  now  my  former  days  retire 
And  I'm  by  beauty  caught. 

The  tender  chains  of  sweet  desire 
Are  fix'd  upon  my  thought. 

Ye  nightingales,  ye  twisting  pines! 

Ye  swains  that  haunt  the  grove! 
Ye  gentle  echoes,  breezy  winds! 

Ye  close  retreats  of  love! 

With  all  of  nature,  all  of  art, 

Assist  the  dear  design; 
O  teach  a  young,  unpractis'd  heart, 

To  make  my  Nancy  mine. 

The  very  thought  of  change  I  hate, 

As  much  as  of  despair; 
Nor  ever  covet  to  be  great, 

Unless  it  be  for  her. 

623 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Tis  true,  the  passion  in  my  mind 
Is  mix'd  with  soft  distress; 

Yet  while  the  fair  I  love  is  kind, 
I  cannot  wish  it  less. 


T.  Paniell 


J-fj.  Secret  hove 

T    LOVE!  but  she  alone  shall  know, 
-*■      Who  is  herself  my  treasure; 
Vain  lovers,  when  their  joys  they  show,. 

Call  partners  to  their  pleasure. 
Let  empty  beaux  the  favour  miss, 

While  they  would  have  it  known; 
That  soul's  too  narrow  for  the  bliss. 

Who  can't  enjoy  alone. 

Then,  never  let  my  love  be  told 

By  way  of  modern  toasting; 
The  sweetest  joy  like  fairy  gold, 

Is  lost  by  selfish  boasting. 
Too  rich  to  shew,  what  I  possess. 

My  treasure  I'll  conceal; 
I  may  my  pains  of  love  confess. 

But  ne'er  my  joys  reveal. 


P.  A.  Motteux 


624 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

^46.  The  Rose-Biid 

QUEEN  of  fragrance,  lovely  Rose, 
The  beauties  of  thy  leaves  disclose! 
The  winter's  past,  the  tempests  fly, 
Soft  gales  breathe  gently  through  the  sky; 
The  lark  sweet  warbling  on  the  wing 
Salutes  the  gay  return  of  Spring; 
The  silver  dews,  the  vernal  showers, 
Call  forth  a  bloomy  waste  of  flowers; 
The  joyous  fields,  the  shady  woods. 
Are  cloth'd  with  green,  or  swell  with  buds; 
Then  haste  thy  beauties  to  disclose, 
Queen  of  fragrance,  lovely  Rose! 

Thou,  beauteous  flower,  a  welcome  guest, 
Shalt  flourish  on  the  fair  one's  breast; 
Shalt  grace  her  hand,  or  deck  her  hair. 
The  flower  most  sweet,  the  nymph  most  fair. 
Breathe  soft,  ye  winds!  be  calm,  ye  skies! 
Alike  ye  flowery  race,  arise! 
And  haste  thy  beauties  to  disclose. 
Queen  of  fragrance,  lovely  Rose! 

But  thou,  fair  nymph,  thyself  survey 
In  this  sweet  offspring  of  a  day; 
That  miracle  of  face  must  fail. 
Thy  charms  are  sweet,  but  charms  are  frail: 
Swift  as  the  short-liv'd  flowers  they  fly. 
At  morn  they  bloom,  at  evening  die: 
Though  sickness  yet  a  while  forbears. 
Yet  Time  destroys  what  sickness  spares; 

^'25 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Now  Helen  lives  alone  in  fame, 
And  Cleopatra's  but  a  name; 
Time  must  indent  that  heavenly  brow, 
And  thou  must  be,  what  they  are  now. 

This  moral  to  the  fair  disclose, 
Queen  of  fragrance,  lovely  Rose! 

W.  Br 

^^7.  The  Poet  and  the  Rose 

T  HATE  the  man  who  builds  his  name 
^     On  ruins  of  another's  fame. 
Thus  prudes,  by  characters  o'erthrown, 
Imagine  that  they  raise  their  own. 
Thus  scribblers,  covetous  of  praise. 
Think  slander  can  transplant  the  bays. 
Beauties  and  bards  have  equal  pride, 
With  both  all  rivals  are  decried. 
Who  praises  Lesbia's  eyes  and  feature, 
Must  call  her  sister  awkward  creature; 
For  the  kind  flattery's  sure  to  charm, 
When  we  some  other  nymph  disarm. 

As  in  the  cool  of  early  day 
A  Poet  sought  the  sweets  of  May, 
The  garden's  fragrant  breath  ascends. 
And  ev'ry  stalk  the  odour  bends. 
A  rose  he  plucked,  he  gazed,  admired, 
Thus  singing  as  the  Muse  inspired: 

Go,  Rose,  my  Chloe's  bosom  grace; 

How  happy  should  I  prove, 
626 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Might  I  supply  that  envied  place 

With  never-fading  love! 
There,  Phoenix-like,  beneath  her  eye, 
Involved  in  fragrance,  burn  and  die! 

Know,  hapless  flower,  that  thou  shalt  find 

More  fragrant  roses  there; 
I  see  thy  with'ring  head  reclined 

With  envy  and  despair! 
One  common  fate  we  both  must  prove; 
You  die  with  envy,  I  with  love. 

Spare  your  comparisons,  replied 
An  angry  Rose  who  grew  beside. 
Of  all  mankind,  you  should  not  flout  us; 
What  can  a  Poet  do  without  us  ^ 
In  ev'ry  love-song  roses  bloom, 
We  lend  you  colour  and  perfume. 
Does  it  to  Chloe's  charms  conduce. 
To  found  her  praise  on  our  abuse  .' 
Must  we,  to  flatter  her,  be  made 
To  wither,  envy,  pine,  and  fade  ? 


/.   Gay 


348.  Song 

O  EE,  see,  she  wakes,  Sabina  wakes! 
*^     And  now  the  sun  begins  to  rise; 
Less  glorious  is  the  morn  that  breaks 

From  his  bright  beams,  than  her  fair  eyes. 

627 


THE  BOOK  OF 

With  light  united,  day  they  give, 
But  different  fates  ere  night  fulfil; 

How  many  by  his  warmth  will  live! 
How  many  will  her  coldness  kill! 


IV.   Congrcve 


349'  ^ong 

W  THEN  thy  beauty  appears 
^  ^       In  its  graces  and  airs, 
All  bright  as  an  angel  new  dropt  from  the  sky; 
At  distance  I  gaze  and  am  awed  by  my  fears, 
So  strangely  you  dazzle  my  eye! 

But  when  without  art. 
Your  kind  thoughts  you  impart, 
When  your  love  runs  in  blushes  through  every  vein; 

When  it  darts  from  your  eyes,  when  it  pants  in  your  heart. 
Then  I  know  you're  a  woman  again. 

There's  a  passion  and  pride 
In  our  sex  (she  replied), 
Ar  d  thus,  might  I  gratify  both,  I  would  do: 
Still  an  angel  appear  to  each  lover  beside, 
But  still  be  a  woman  in  )ou. 

r.   Parncll 


628 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

35O'  Song 

r\   RUDDIER  than  the  cherry! 
^-^      O  sweeter  than  the  berry! 

O  nymph  more  bright 

Than  rrioonshine  night, 
Like  kidhngs  bhthe  and  merry! 
Ripe  as  the  melting  cluster! 
No  lily  has  such  lustre; 

Yet  hard  to  tame 

As  raging  flame, 
And  fierce  as  storms  that  bluster! 


351.  A   Song 

TF  wine  and  music  have  the  power, 
-*-  To  ease  the  sickness  of  the  soul, 
Let  Phoebus  every  string  explore, 

And  Bacchus  fill  the  sprightly  bowl. 
Let  them  their  friendly  aid  employ. 

To  make  my  Chloe's  absence  light, 
And  seek  for  pleasure,  to  destroy 

The  sorrows  of  this  live-long  night. 

But  she  to-morrow  will  return: 
Venus,  be  thou  to-morrow  great; 

Thy  myrtles  strow,  thy  odours  burn. 
And  meet  thy  favourite  nymph  in  state. 


J.  Gay 


62g 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Kind  goddess,  to  no  other  powers 
Let  us  to-morrow's  blessings  own: 

Thy  darHng  loves  shall  guide  the  hours, 
And  all  the  day  be  thine  alone. 


M.  Prior 


352'  A  Song 

T    SMILE  at  Love  and  all  its  arts, 
-■-     The  charming  Cynthia  cri^d: 
Take  heed,  for  Love  has  piercing  darts, 

A  wounded  swain  replied. 
Once  free  and  blest  as  you  are  now, 

I  trifled  with  his  charms, 
I  pointed  at  his  little  bow. 

And  sported  with  his  arms; 
Till,  urged  too  far.  Revenge!  he  cries, 

A  fatal  shaft  he  drew, 
It  took  its  passage  through  your  eyes. 

And  to  my  heart  it  flew. 

To  tear  it  thence  I  tried  in  vain, 

To  strive,  I  quickly  found, 
Was  only  to  increase  the  pain, 

And  to  enlarge  the  wound. 
Ah!  much  too  well,  I  fear  you  knew 

What  pain  I'm  to  endure, 
Since  what  your  eyes  alone  could  do, 

Your  heart  alone  can  cure. 
630 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  that  (grant  Heaven  I  may  mistake!) 

I  doubt  is  doom  to  bear 
A  burden  for  another's  sake, 

Who  ill  rewards  its  care. 


Str  J.    Vanhrugh 


353'  ^0^9 


/^NLY  tell  her  that  I  love: 

^~^     Leave  the  rest  to  her  and  Fate: 

Some  kind  planet  from  above 

May  perhaps  her  pity  move: 

Lovers  on  their  stars  must  wait; — 
Only  tell  her  that  I  love! 

Why,  O  why  should  I  despair  ? 

Mercy's  pictured  in  her  eye: 
If  she  once  vouchsafe  to  hear. 
Welcome  Hope  and  tarewell  Fear! 

She's  too  good  to  let  me  die; — • 
Why,  O  why  should  I  despair  ? 

] .  Cutis,  Lord  Cutis 

SS4-  An  Ode 


"  I  ^HE  merchant,  to  secure  his  treasure, 

-*■       Conveys  it  in  a  borrowed  name: 
Euphelia  serves  to  grace  my  measure; 
But  Chloe  is  my  real  flame. 


My  softest  verse,  my  darling  lyre. 
Upon  Euphelia's  toilet  lay; 


631 


THE  BOOK  OF 

When  Chloe  noted  her  desire, 

That  I  should  sing,  that  I  should  play. 

My  lyre  I  tune,  my  voice  I  raise; 

But  with  my  numbers  mix  my  sighs: 
And  whilst  I  sing  Euphelia's  praise, 

I  fix  my  soul  on  Chloe's  eyes. 

Fair  Chloe  blushed:  Euphelia  frown'd: 
I  sung  and  gazed:  I  played  and  trembled: 

And  Venus  to  the  Loves  around 

Remarked,  how  ill  we  all  dissembled. 


M.  Prior 


]^^.  Sally  in   Our  Alley 

(^\^  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart 
^-^     There's  none  like  pretty  Sally, 
She  is  the  darling  of  m.y  heart. 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 
There  is  no  lady  in  the  land 

Is  half  so  sweet  as  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

Her  father  he  makes  cabbage-nets, 
And  through  the  streets  does  cry  'em; 

Her  mother  she  sells  laces  long 

To  such  as  please  to  buy  'em: 
632 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  sure  such  folks  could  ne'er  beget 

So  sweet  a  girl  as  Sally! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

When  she  is  by,  I  leave  my  work, 

I  love  her  so  sincerely; 
My  master  comes  like  any  Turk, 

And  bangs  me  most  severely: 
But  let  him  bang  his  bellyful, 

I'll  bear  it  all  for  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

Of  all  the  days  that's  in  the  week 

I  dearly  love  but  one  day — 
And  that's  the  day  that  comes  betwixt 

A  Saturday  and  Monday; 
For  then  I'm  drest  all  in  my  best 

To  walk  abroad  with  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart. 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

My  master  carries  me  to  church. 

And  often  am  I  blamed 
Because  I  leave  him  in  the  lurch 

As  soon  as  text  is  named; 
I  leave  the  church  in  sermon-time 

And  slink  away  to  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 


633 


THE  BOOK  OF 

When  Christmas  comes  about  again, 

O,  then  I  shall  have  money; 
I'll  hoard  it  up,  and  box  it  all, 

I'll  give  it  to  my  honey: 
I  would  it  were  ten  thousand  pound 

I'd  give  it  all  to  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart. 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

My  master  and  the  neighbours  all 

Make  game  of  me  and  Sally, 
And,  but  for  her,  I'd  better  be 

A  slave  and  row  a  galley; 
But  when  my  seven  long  years  are  out, 

O,  then  I'll  marry  Sally; 
O,  then  we'll  wed,  and  then  we'll  bed — 

But  not  in  our  alley! 


H.  a 


arey 


S56.        Sweet  IVilUam's  Farewell  to 
Black-Eyed  Susan 

A  LL  in  the  Downs  the  fleet  was  moor'd, 
■^  ^         The  streamers  waving  in  the  wind. 
When  black-eyed  Susan  came  aboard, 
'Oh!  where  shall  I  my  true  love  find! 
Tell  me,  ye  jovial  sailors,  tell  me  true. 
If  my  sweet  William  sails  among  the  crew.' 
634 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

William,  who  high  upon  the  yard 

Rock'd  with  the  billow  to  and  fro, 
Soon  as  her  well-known  voice  he  heard, 
He  sigh'd  and  cast  his  eyes  below: 
The  cord  slides  swiftly  through  his  glowing  hands, 
And  (quick  as  lightning)  on  the  deck  he  stands. 

So  the  sweet  lark,  high-poised  in  air, 

Shuts  close  his  pinions  to  his  breast 
(If,  chance,  his  mate's  shrill  call  he  hear) 
And  drops  at  once  into  her  nest. 
The  noblest  captain  in  the  British  fleet. 
Might  envy  William's  lip  those  kisses  sweet. 

'O  Susan,  Susan,  lovely  dear, 

My  vows  shall  ever  true  remain; 
Let  me  kiss  off  that  falling  tear, 
We  only  part  to  meet  again. 
Change,  as  ye  list,  ye  winds;  my  heart  shall  be 
The  faithful  compass  that  still  points  to  thee. 

'Believe  not  what  the  landsmen  say. 

Who  tempt  with  doubts  thy  constant  mind: 
They'll  tell  thee,  sailors,  when  away. 
In  every  port  a  mistress  find. 
Yes,  yes,  believe  them  when  they  tell  thee  so, 
For  thou  art  present  wheresoe'er  I  go. 

'If  to  far  India's  coast  we  sail. 

Thy  eyes  are  seen  in  diamonds  bright, 

Thy  breath  is  Afric's  spicy  gale, 
Thy  skin  is  ivory,  so  white. 

635 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thus  every  beauteous  object  that  I  view, 
Wakes  in  my  soul  some  charm  of  lovely  Sue, 

'Though  battle  call  me  from  thy  arms, 

Let  not  my  pretty  Susan  mourn; 
Though  cannons  roar,  yet  safe  from  harms, 
William  shall  to  his  dear  return. 
Love  turns  aside  the  balls  that  round  me  fly. 
Lest  precious  tears  should  drop  from  Susan's  eye.' 

The  boatswain  gave  the  dreadful  word, 

The  sails  their  swelling  bosom  spread, 
No  longer  must  she  stay  aboard: 

They  kiss'd,  she  sigh'd,  he  hung  his  head; 
Her  lessening  boat  unwilling  rows  to  land: 
'Adieu!'  she  cries5  and  waved  her  lily  hand. 


/•  Gay 


357'  Song 

"piOUS  Selinda  goes  to  prayers 
-*-        If  I  but  ask  the  favour; 
And  yet  the  tender  fool's  in  tears 
When  she  believes  I'll  leave  her. 

Would  I  were  free  from  this  restraint, 

Or  else  had  hopes  to  win  her; 
Would  she  could  make  of  me  a  saint, 
Or  I  of  her  a  sinner! 

W.  Congreve 
636 


RESTORAl  ION  VERSE 

The  Indifferent 

TF  from  the  lustre  of  the  sun, 

■*■     To  catch  your  fleeting  shade  you  run, 

In  vain  is  all  your  haste,  Sir; 
But  if  your  feet  reverse  the  race, 
The  fugitive  will  urge  the  chase, 

And  follow  you  as  fast.  Sir. 

Thus,  if  at  any  time,  as  now, 
Some  scornful  Chloe  you  pursue, 

In  hopes  to  overtake  her; 
Be  sure  you  ne'er  too  eager  be. 
But  look  upon't  as  cold  as  she, 

And  seemingly  forsake  her. 

So  I  and  Laura  t'other  day, 

Were  coursing  round  a  cock  of  hay. 

While  I  could  ne'er  o'er  get  her; 
But,  when  I  found  I  ran  in  vain. 
Quite  tir'd  I  turn'd  me  back  again, 

And,  flying  from  her,  met  her. 

W.  Pattison 


Amoret 

I  ^^AIR  Amoret  is  gone  astray: 
■*-         Pursue  and  seek  her,  every  lover! 
I'll  tell  the  signs  by  which  you  may 
The  wandering  shepherdess  discover. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Coquet  and  coy  at  once  her  air, 

Both  studied,  though  both  seem  neglected; 
Careless  she  is,  with  artful  care, 

Affecting  to  seem  unaffected. 

With  skill  her  eyes  dart  every  glance, 

Yet  change  so  soon  you'd  ne'er  suspect  them; 

For  she'd  persuade  they  wound  by  chance. 
Though  certain  aim  and  art  direct  them. 

She  likes  herself,  yet  others  hates 
For  that  which  in  herself  she  prizes; 

And  while  she  laughs  at  them,  forgets 
She  is  the  thing  she  despises. 

fV.  Congreve 


360.  To   a  Lady  Making  Love 

/"^OOD  madam,  when  ladies  are  willing, 
^-^     A  man  must  needs  look  like  a  fool; 
Foi  me    I  would  not  give  a  shilling 
For  one  who  would  love  out  of  rule. 

You  should  leave  us  to  guess  by  your  blushing. 
And  not  speak  the  matter  so  plain; 

'Tis  our's  to  write  and  be  pushing, 
'Tis  yours  to  affect  disdain. 

That  you're  in  a  terrible  taking. 
By  all  these  sweet  oglings  I  see, 
638 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  the  fruit  that  can  fall  without  shaking, 
Indeed  is  too  mellow  for  me. 

Lady  M.    W.  Montagu 

Song 

"V  X  7HY,  lovely  charmer,  tell  me,  why 

'  *       So  very  kind,  and  yet  so  shy  ? 
Why  does  that  cold  forbiding  air 
Give  damps  of  sorrow  and  despair  ? 
Or  why  that  smile  my  soul  subdue; 
And  kindle  up  my  flames  anew  ? 

In  vain  you  strive,  with  all  your  art, 
By  turns,  to  freeze,  and  fire  my  heart; 
When  I  behold  a  face  so  fair. 
So  sweet  a  look,  so  soft  an  air; 
My  ravished  soul  is  charmed  all  o'er; 
I  cannot  love  thee  less,  or  more. 

Sir  R.  Steele 

The  Advice 

/'~~^EASE,  fond  shepherd!  Cease  desiring 
^-^     What  you  never  must  enjoy; 
She  derides  your  vain  aspiring. 
She,  to  all  your  sex  is  coy. 

Cunning  Damon  once  pursued  her, 

Yet  she  never  would  incline; 
Strephon  too,  as  vainly  wooed  her. 

Though  his  flocks  are  more  than  thine. 

f>39 


THE  BOOK  OF 

At  Diana's  -shrine,  aloud, 

By  the  zone  around  her  waist, 
Thrice  she  bowed,  and  thrice  she  vowed, 

Like  the  Goddess,  to  be  chaste. 

Lady  M.  W.  Montagu 


j<5j.  The  Answer 

'T^  HOUGH  I  never  get  possession, 

*■       'Tis  a  pleasure  to  adore; 
Hope,  the  wretch's  only  blessing. 
May,  in  time,  procure  me  more. 

Constant  courtship  may  obtain  her. 
Where  both  wealth  and  merit  fail; 

And  the  lucky  minute  gain  her — 
Fate  and  fancy  must  prevail. 

At  Diana's  shrine,  aloud. 

By  the  bow  and  by  the  quiver. 

Thrice  she  bowed,  and  thrice  she  vowed, 
Once  to  love — and  that  forever. 

Lady  M.    W.  Montagu 


$6^.        On  a  Certain  Lady  at  Court 

T    KNOW  a  thing  that's  most  uncommon; 
-*•      (Envy,  be  silent,  and  attend) 
I  know  a  reasonable  woman. 

Handsome  and  witty,  yet  a  friend. 
640 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Not  warp'd  by  passion,  awed  by  rumour; 

Not  grave  through  pride,  nor  gay  through  folly; 
An  equal  mixture  of  good-humour 

And  sensible  soft  melancholy. 

'Has  she  no  faults  then  (Envy  says),  Sir?' 

Yes,  she  has  one,  I  must  aver: 
When  all  the  world  conspires  to  praise  her. 

The  woman's  deaf,  and  does  not  hear. 

A.  Pope 


Semele  to  Jupiter 

\  ^T^ITH  my  frailty,  don't  upbraid  me, 

•  *       I  am  woman  as  you  made  me; 
Causeless  doubting,  or  despairing, 
Rashly  trusting,  idly  fearing: 

If  obtaining, 

Still  complaining; 

If  consenting. 

Still  repenting; 

Most  complying, 

Then  denying: 
And  to  be  followed,  only  flying. 

With  my  frailty,  don't  upbraid  me: 
I  am  woman  as  you  made  mc. 

W.  Congreve 


641 


THE  BOOK  OF 
^66.  The  D  eel  aimer 

\  A  rOMAN!  thoughtless,  giddy  creature; 

'  ^       Laughing,  idle,  flutt'ring  thing; 
Most  fantastic  work  of  Nature; 
Still,  like  Fancy,  on  the  wing. 

'Slave  to  every  changing  passion; 

Loving,  hating,  in  extreme; 
Fond  of  every  foolish  fashion; 

And,  at  best,  a  pleasing  dream. 

'Lovely  trifle,  dear  illusion, 

Conquering  weakness,  wished-for  pain; 

Man's  chief  glory  and  confusion; 
Of  all  vanity,  most  vain.' 

Thus  deriding  Beauty's  power, 

Bevil  called  it  all  a  cheat; 
But,  in  less  than  half  an  hour, 

Kneeled,  and  whined,  at  Celia's  feet. 

H.  Baker 

^dy.  The  Answer 

To  Pope's  Impromptu 

"P^ISARM'D  with  so  genteel  an  air, 
^^^     The  contest  I  give  o'er; 
Yet  Alexander,  have  a  care, 

And  shock  the  sex  no  more. 
We  rule  the  world  our  life's  whole  race, 
642 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Men  but  assume  that  right; 
First  slaves  to  every  tempting  face, 

Then  martyrs  to  our  spite. 
You  of  one  Orpheus  sure  have  read, 

Who  would  like  you  have  writ 
Had  he  in  London  town  been  bred, 

And  polish'd  too  his  wit; 
But  he  poor  soul  thought  all  was  well, 

And  great  should  be  his  fame, 
When  he  had  left  his  wife  in  hell. 

And  birds  and  beasts  could  tame. 
Yet  venturing  then  with  scoffing  rhymes 

The  women  to  incense, 
Resenting  heroines  of  those  times 

Soon  punishe'd  his  offence. 
And  as  the  Hebrus  roll'd  his  scull. 

And  harp  besmear'd  with  blood. 
They  clashing  as  the  waves  grew  full, 

Still  harmonis'd  the  flood. 
But  you  our  follies  gently  treat, 

And  spin  so  fine  the  thread, 
You  need  not  fear  his  awkward  fate. 

The  lock  won't  cost  the  head. 
Our  admiration  you  command 

For  all  that's  gone  before; 
What  next  we  look  for  at  your  hand 

Can  only  raise  it  more. 
Yet  sooth  the  Ladies  I  advise 

(As  me  too  pride  has  wrought,) 
We're  born  to  wit,  but  to  be  wise 

By  admonitions  taught. 

Jiiiw,   Countess  of  fVinchilsea 

^'43 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Those  Arts  PFhich   Common 
Beauties  Move 

'T^^'HOSE  arts  which  common  beauties  move, 

-■■       Corinna,  you  despise: 
You  think  there's  nothing  wise  in  love 

Or  eloquent  in  sighs. 
You  laugh  at  ogle,  cant,  and  song. 

And  promises  abuse: 
But  say — for  I  have  courted  long — 

What  methods  shall  I  use  ? 

We  must  not  praise  your  charms  and  wit. 

Nor  talk  of  dart  and  flame; 
But  sometimes  you  can  think  it  fit 

To  smile  at  what  you  blame. 
Your  sex's  forms,  which  you  disown, 

Alas!  you  can't  forbear; 
But  in  a  minute  smile  and  frown, 

Are  tender  and  severe. 

Corinna,  let  us  now  be  free; 

No  more  your  arts  pursue, 
Unless  you  suffer  rae  to  be 

As  whimsical  as  you. 
At  last  the  vain  dispute  desist, 

To  love  resign  the  field: 
'Twas  custom  forced  you  to  resist. 

And  custom  bids  you  yield. 

J.  Oldmixon 

644 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

^6g.         The  Lady  Who  Offers  Her 
Looking-Glass   to   Venus 

'\  TENUS,  take  my  votive  glass: 
*        Since  I  am  not  what  I  was; 
What  from  this  day  I  shall  be, 
Venus,  let  me  never  see. 

M.  Prior 


S'/O.  A  Song 

TDERSUADE  me  not,  there  is  a  grace 
-^       Proceeds  from  Silvia's  voice  or  lute, 
Against  Miranda's  charming  face 
To  make  her  hold  the  least  dispute. 

Music,  which  tunes  the  soul  for  love, 

And  stirs  up  all  our  soft  desires, 
Does  but  the  glowing  flame  improve, 

Which  pow'rful  beauty  first  inspires. 

Thus,  whilst  with  art  she  plays,  and  sings 

I  to  Miranda,  standing  by, 
Impute  the  music  of  the  strings, 

And  all  the  melting  words  apply. 

Anne,  Countess  of  Wtnchilsea 


645 


THE  BOOK  OF 

J//.   Verses,   JVr'ttten  for  the   Toasting- 
Glasses  of  the  Rit-Cat  Club,   1703 

Duchess  of  St.  Albans 
'  I  ''HE  line  of  Vere,  so  long  renowned  in  arms, 

-*■       Concludes  with  lustre  in  St.  Albans'  charms; 
Her  conquering  eyes  have  made  their  race  complete; 
They  rose  in  Valour,  and  in  Beauty  set. 

Ductless  of  Beaufort 
Offspring  of  a  tuneful  sire. 
Blest  with  more  than  mortal  fire; 
Likeness  of  a  mother's  face, 
Blest  with  more  than  mortal  grace; 
You  with  double  charms  surprise, 
With  his  wit,  and  with  her  eyes. 

hady  Mary  Cfiurchtll 
Fairest  and  latest  of  the  beauteous  race, 
Blest  with  your  parents'  wit  and  her  first  blooming  face; 
Bern  with  our  liberties  in  William's  reign. 
Your  eyes  alone  that  liberty  restrain. 

Ductless  of  Rictimond 
Of  two  fair  Richmonds  different  ages  boast, 
Theirs  was  the  first,  and  ours  the  brightest  toast; 
The  adorers  offerings  prove  who's  most  divine, 
They  sacrificed  in  water,  we  in  wine. 

Lady  Sunderland 
All  Nature's  charms  in  Sunderland  appear. 
Bright  as  her  eyes,  and  as  her  reason  clear: 
646 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Yet  still  their  force,  to  men  not  safely  known, 
Seems  undiscovered  to  herself  alone. 

Mademoiselle  S panhetme 
Admired  in  Germany,  adored  in  France, 
Your  charms  to  brighter  glory  here  advance; 
The  stubborn  Britons  own  your  beauty's  claim, 
And  with  their  native  toasts  enroll  your  name. 

C.  Montagu,  Earl  of  Halifax 

S'/2.  The  Otiestion,   to  Lisetta 

AX  7  HAT  nymph  should  I  admire  or  trust, 

*  ^       But  Chloe  beauteous,  Chloe  just  ? 
What  nymph  should  I  desire  to  see, 
But  her  who  leaves  the  plain  for  me  ? 
To  whom  should  I  compose  the  lay. 
But  her  who  listens  when  I  play  1 
To  whom,  in  song,  repeat  my  cares. 
But  her  who  in  my  sorrows  shares  ? 
For  whom  should  I  the  garland  make. 
But  her  who  joys  the  gift  to  take, 
And  boasts  she  wears  it  for  my  sake  ? 
In  love  am  I  not  fully  blest  ? 
Lisetta,  prithee  tell  the  rest. 

57 J.  Lisetta' s  Reply 

OURE,  Chloe  just,  and  Chloe  fair, 
*^       Deserves  to  be  your  only  care; 
But,  when  you  and  she  to-day 
Far  into  the  wood  did  stray, 

647 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  I  happened  to  pass  by, 
Which  way  did  you  cast  your  eye  ? 
But,  when  your  cares  to  her  you  sing, 
You  dare  not  tell  her  whence  they  spring; 
Does  it  not  more  afflict  your  heart, 
That  in  those  cares  she  bears  a  part  ? 
When  you  the  flowers  for  Chloe  twine, 
Why  do  you  to  her  garland  join 
The  meanest  bud  that  falls  from  mine  ? 
Simplest  of  swains!  the  world  may  see 
Whom  Chloe  loves,  and  who  loves  me. 

M.  Prior 

374.  To  Chloe 

"PRITHEE,  Chloe,  not  so  fast, 

-*-        Let's  not  run  and  wed  in  haste; 

We've  a  thousand  things  to  do; 

You  must  fly  and  I  pursue, 

You  must  frown  and  I  must  sigh, 

I  entreat  and  you  deny. 

Stay — if  I  am  never  crost, 

Half  the  pleasure  will  be  lost. 

Be,  or  seem  to  be,  severe; 

Give  me  reason  to  despair: 

Fondness  will  my  wishes  cloy, 

Make  me  careless  of  the  joy. 

Lovers  may  of  course  complain 

Of  their  trouble  and  their  pain. 

But,  if  pain  and  trouble  cease. 

Love  without  it  will  not  please. 

/.  OlJmixon 
648 


RESTORATION  VERSE' 

The  Female  Phaeton 

'  I  ^HUS  Kitty,  beautiful  and  young 

-'-       And  wild  as  colt  untamed; 
Bespoke  the  fair  from  whom  she  sprung, 
With  little  rage  inflamed. 

Inflamed  with  rage  at  sad  restraint, 
Which  wise  mamma  ordained; 

And  sorely  vexed  to  play  the  saint, 
Whilst  Wit  and  Beauty  reigned. 

'Shall  I  thumb  holy  books,  confined 

W  ith  Abigails  forsaken  ? 
Kitty's  for  other  things  designed, 

Or  I  am  much  mistaken. 

'Must  Lady  Jenny  frisk  about, 

And  visit  with  her  cousins  ? 
At  balls  must  she  make  all  the  rout. 

And  bring  home  hearts  by  dozens  ? 

'What  has  she  better,  pray,  than  I  ? 

What  hidden  charms  to  boast. 
That  all  mankind  for  her  should  die. 

Whilst  I  am  scarce  a  toast  t 

'Dearest  Mamma!  for  once  let  me, 

Unchained,  my  fortune  try; 
I'll  have  my  Earl,  as  well  as  she. 

Or  know  the  reason  why. 

649 


THE  BOOK  OF 

I'll  soon  with  Jenny's  pride  quit  score, 
Make  all  her  lo\ers  fall; 
They'll  grieve  I  was  not  loosed  before, 
She,  I  was  loosed  at  all.' 

Fondness  prevailed,  Mamma  gave  way; 

Kitty,  at  heart's  desire, 
Obtained  the  chariot  for  a  day 

And  set  the  world  on  fire. 

M.  Prior 


S76.  To  Apollo  Making  Love 

T    AM,  cried  Apollo,  when  Daphne  he  woo'd, 
-•-      And  panting  for  breath,  the  coy  maiden  pursued. 
When  his  wisdom,  in  manner  most  ample,  exprest, 
The  long  list  of  the  graces  his  godship  possest: 

I'm  the  god  of  sweet  song,  and  inspirer  of  lays; 
Nor  for  lays    nor  sweet  song,  the  fair  fugitive  stays; 
I'm  the  god  of  the  harp — stop  my  fairest — in  vain; 
Nor  the  harp,  nor  the  harper  could  fetch  her  again. 

Every  plant,  every  flower,  and  their  virtues  I  know, 
God  of  light  I'm  above,  and  of  physic  below: 
At  the  dreadful  word  physic,  the  nymph  fled  more  fast; 
At  the  fatal  word  physic  she  doubled  her  haste. 

Thou  fond  god  of  wisdom,  then,  alter  thy  phrase, 
Bid  her  view  the  young  bloom,  and  thy  ravishing  rays, 
650 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Tell  her  less  of  thy  knowledge,  and  more  of  thy  charms, 
And,  my  life  for't,  the  damsel  will  fly  to  thy  arms. 

r.  Tickell 


^yj.  A  Better  Answer 

T    \EAR  Chloe,  how  blubbered  is  that  pretty  face! 
*-^     Thy  cheek  all  on  fire,  and  thy  hair  all  uncurled! 
Prithee  quit  this  caprice,  and  (as  old  FalstafF  says) 
Let  us  e'en  talk  a  little  like  folks  of  this  world. 

How  canst  thou  presume  thou  hast  leave  to  destroy 
The  beauties,  which  Venus  but  lent  to  thy  keeping  ? 

Those  looks  were  designed  to  inspire  love  and  joy; 
More  ord'nary  eyes  may  serve  people  for  weeping. 

To  be  vexed  at  a  trifle  or  two  that  I  writ. 

Your  judgment  at  once  and  my  passion  you  wrong; 

You  take  that  for  fact  which  will  scarce  be  found  wit: 
Od's  life!  must  one  swear  to  the  truth  of  a  song? 

What  I  speak,  my  fair  Chloe,  and  what  I  write,  shows 
The  diff^'rence  there  is  betwixt  nature  and  art: 

I  court  others  in  verse,  but  I  love  thee  in  prose; 

And  they  have  my  whimsies,  but  thou  hast  my  heart. 

The  god  of  us  verse-men  (you  know,  child),  the  sun. 
How  after  his  journeys  he  sets  up  his  rest; 

At  morning  o'er  earth  't  is  his  fancy  to  run, 
If  at  night  he  reclines  on  his  Thetis's  breast. 

^•51 


THE  BOOK  OF 

So  when  I  am  wearied  with  wand'ring  all  day, 
To  thee,  my  delight,  in  the  evening  I  come: 

No  matter  what  beauties  I  saw  in  my  way; 

They  were  but  my  visits,  but  thou  art  my  home. 

Then  finish,  dear  Chloe,  this  pastoral  war. 
And  let  us  like  Horace  and  Lydia  agree; 

For  thou  art  a  girl  as  much  brighter  than  her 
As  he  was  a  poet  sublimer  than  me. 


M.  Prior 


378.  To  a  Lady 

She  refusing  to  continue  a  dispute  with   me  and 
leaving  me  in  the  Argument 

O  PARE,  generous  victor,  spare  the  slave 
*^     Who  did  unequal  war  pursue, 
That  more  than  triumph  he  might  have 
In  being  overcome  by  you. 

In  the  dispute  whate'er  I  said. 

My  heart  was  by  my  tongue  belied, 

And  in  my  looks  you  might  have  read 
How  much  I  argued  on  your  side. 

You,  far  from  danger  as  from  fear. 
Might  have  sustained  an  open  fight; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

For  seldom  your  opinions  err; 
Your  eyes  are  always  in  the  right. 

Why,  fair  one,  would  you  not  reply 

On  Reason's  force  with  Beauty's  joined  ? 

Could  I  their  prevalence  deny, 
I  must  at  once  be  deaf  and  blind. 


Alas!  not  hoping  to  subdue, 

I  only  to  the  fight  aspired; 
To  keep  the  beauteous  foe  in  view 

Was  all  the  glory  I  desired. 

But  she,  howe'er  of  victory  sure, 

Contemns  the  wreath  too  long  delayed, 

And,  armed  with  more  immediate  pow'r. 
Calls  cruel  silence  to  her  aid. 

Deeper  to  wound,  she  shuns  the  fight; 

She  drops  her  arms,  to  gain  the  field; 
Secures  her  conquest  by  her  flight. 

And  triumphs,  when  she  seems  to  yield. 

So  when  the  Parthian  turned  his  steed 
And  from  the  hostile  camp  withdrew, 

With  cruel  skill  the  backward  reed 
He  sent;  and  as  he  fled,  he  slew. 

M.  Prior 

^\S3 


THE  BOOK  OF 

J7y.  False    Though  She  Be  to  Me  and 
Love 

"PALSE  though  she  be  to  me  and  love, 
-*-        I'll  ne'er  pursue  revenge; 
For  still  the  charmer  I  approve, 
Though  I  deplore  her  change. 

In  hours  of  bliss  we  oft  have  met: 

They  could  not  always  last; 
And  though  the  present  I  regret, 

I'm  grateful  for  the  past. 

W.  Congreve 


0.  To   Chloe  JVeep'ing 

^^EE,  whilst  thou  wecp'st,  fair  Chloe,  see 
**^     The  world  in  sympathy  with  thee. 
The  cheerful  birds  no  longer  sing, 
Each  drops  his  head,  and  hangs  his  wing. 
1  he  clouds  have  bent  their  bosom  lower. 
And  shed  their  sorrows  in  a  shower. 
The  brooks  beyond  their  limits  flow; 
And  louder  murmurs  speak  their  woe. 
The  nymphs  and  swains  adopt  thy  cares: 
They  heave  thy  sighs,  and  weep  thy  tears. 
Fantastic  nymph!  that  grief  should  move 
Thy  heart,  obdurate  against  love. 
Strange  tears!  whose  power  can  soften  all. 
But  that  dear  breast  on  which  they  fall. 

M.  Prior 
654 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

S8l.  A   Song 

T  N  vain  you  tell  your  parting  lover, 

-'-     You  wish  fair  winds  may  waft  him  over. 

Alas!  what  winds  can  happy  prove, 

That  bear  me  far  from  what  I  love  ? 

Alas!  what  dangers  on  the  main 

Can  equal  those  that  I  sustain. 

From  slighted  vows,  and  cold  disdain. 

Be  gentle,  and  in  pity  choose 

To  wish  the  wildest  tempests  loose: 

That  thrown  again  upon  the  coast, 

Where  first  my  shipwrecked  heart  was  lost, 

I  may  once  more  repeat  my  pain, 

Once  more  in  dying  notes  complain 

Of  slighted  vows,  and  cold  disdain. 


M.  Prior 


382.         An  Elegy   to   an   old  Beauty 

T  N  vain,  poor  nymph,  to  please  our  youthful  sight 
-*■      You  sleep  in  cream  and  frontlets  all  the  night. 
Your  face  with  patches  soil,  with  paint  repair. 
Dress  with  gay  gowns,  and  shade  with  foreign  hair. 
If  truth,  in  spite  of  manners,  must  he  told, 
Why  really  fifty-five  is  something  old. 

Once  you  were  young;  or  one,  whose  life's  so  long 
She  might  have  borne  my  mother,  tells  me  wrong. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  once,  since  envy's  dead  before  you  die, 
The  women  own,  you  played  a  sparkling  eye. 
Taught  the  Hght  foot  a  modish  httle  trip, 
And  pouted  with  the  prettiest  purple  lip. 

To  some  new  charmer  are  the  roses  fled, 
Which  blew,  to  damask  all  thy  cheek  with  red; 
Youth  calls  the  Graces  there  to  fix  their  reign, 
And  airs  by  thousands  fill  their  easy  train. 
So  parting  summer  bids  her  flowery  prime 
Attend  the  sun  to  dress  some  foreign  clime. 
While  withering  seasons  in  succession,  here, 
Strip  the  gay  gardens,  and  deform  the  year. 

But  thou,  since  nature  bids,  the  world  resign, 
'Tis  now  thy  daughter's  daughter's  time  to  shine. 
With  more  address,  or  such  as  pleases  more, 
She  runs  her  female  exercises  o'er. 
Unfurls  or  closes,  raps  or  turns  the  fan. 
And  smiles,  or  blushes  at  the  creature  man. 
With  quicker  life,  as  gilded  coaches  pass, 
In  sideling  courtesy  she  drops  the  glass. 
With  better  strength,  on  visit-days  she  bears 
To  mount  her  fifty  flights  of  ample  stairs. 
Her  mein,  her  shape,  her  temper,  eyes,  and  tongue, 
Are  sure  to  conquer — for  the  rogue  is  young: 
And  all  that's  madly  wild,  or  oddly  gay, 
We  call  it  only  pretty  Fanny's  way. 

Let  time,  that  makes  you  homely,  make  you  sage. 
The  sphere  of  wisdom  is  the  sphere  of  age. 

'Tis  true,  when  beauty  dawns  with  early  fire. 
And  hears  the  flattering  tongues  of  soft  desire. 
If  not  from  virtue,  from  its  gravest  ways 
The  soul  with  pleasing  avocation  strays. 
656 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  beauty  gone,  'tis  easier  to  be  wise, 

As  harpers  better,  by  the  loss  of  eyes. 

Henceforth  retire,  reduce  your  roving  airs, 

Haunt  less  the  plays,  and  more  the  public  prayers, 

Reject  the  Mechlin  head,  and  gold  brocade. 

Go  pray  in  sober  Norwich  crape  arrayed. 

Thy  pendant  diamonds  let  thy  Fanny  take, 

(Their  trembling  lustre  shows  how  much  you  shake); 

Or  bid  her  wear  your  necklace  rowed  with  pearl, 

You'll  find  your  Fanny  an  obedient  girl. 

So  for  the  rest,  with  less  incumbrance  hung. 

You  walk  through  life,  unmingled  with  the  young. 

And  view  the  shade  and  substance  as  you  pass, 

With  joint  endeavour  trifling  at  the  glass. 

Or  folly  drest,  and  rambling  all  her  days. 

To  meet  her  counterpart,  and  grow  by  praise: 

Yet  still  sedate  yourself,  and  gravely  plain, 

You  neither  fret,  nor  envy  at  the  vain. 

'Twas  thus,  if  man  with  woman  we  compare 

The  wise  Athenian  cross'd  a  glittering  fair. 

Unmoved  by  tongue  and  sights,  he  walked  the  place. 

Through  tape,  toys,  tinsel,  gimp,  perfume,  and  lace; 

Then  bends  from  Mar's  hill  his  awful  eyes, 

And — ^What  a  world  I  never  want  ?  he  cries: 

But  cries  unheard:  for  folly  will  be  free. 

So  parts  the  buzzing  gaudy  crowd  and  he: 

As  careless  he  for  them,  as  they  for  him: 

He  wrapt  in  wisdom,  and  they  whirl'd  by  whim. 

r.  ParneU 


657 


THE  BOOK  01' 

j^j.  Colin  and  Lucy 

OF  Leinster,  famed  for  maidens  fair, 
Bright  Lucy  was  the  grace; 
Nor  e'er  did  LifFy's  limpid  stream 

Reflect  so  sweet  a  face: 
Till  luckless  love,  and  pining  care. 

Impaired  her  rosy  hue, 
Her  coral  lips,  and  damask  cheeks. 
And  eyes  of  glossy  blue. 

Oh!  have  you  seen  a  lily  pale. 

When  beating  rains  descend  ? 
So  drooped  the  slow-consuming  maid. 

Her  life  now  near  its  end. 
By  Lucy  warned,  of  flattering  swains 

Take  heed,  ye  easy  fair: 
Of  vengeance  due  to  broken  vows, 

Ye  perjured  swains,  beware. 

Three  times,  all  in  the  dead  of  night, 

A  bell  was  heard  to  ring; 
And  shrieking  at  her  window  thrice, 

The  raven  flapped  his  wing. 
Too  well  the  love-lorn  maiden  knew 

The  solemn  boding  sound: 
And  thus,  in  dying  words,  bespoke 

The  virgins  weeping  round: 

'I  hear  a  voice,  you  cannot  hear. 

Which  says,  I  must  not  stay; 
658 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

I  see  a  hand,  you  cannot  see, 

Which  beckons  me  away. 
By  a  false  heart,  and  broken  vows, 

In  early  youth  I  die: 
Was  I  to  blame,  because  his  bride 

Was  thrice  as  rich  as  I  ? 


'Ah,  Colin!  give  her  not  thy  vows. 

Vows  due  to  me  alone: 
Nor  thou,  fond  maid,  receive  his  kiss, 

Nor  think  him  all  thy  own. 
To-morrow,  in  the  church  to  wed. 

Impatient,  both  prepare! 
But  know,  fond  maid,  and  know,  false  man, 

That  Lucy  will  be  there! 


'Then  bear  my  corse,  my  comrades,  bear, 

This  bridegroom  blithe  to  meet, 
He  in  his  wedding-trim  so  gay, 

I  in  my  winding-sheet.' 
She  spoke,  she  died,  her  corse  was  borne, 

The  bridegroom  blithe  to  meet. 
He  in  his  wedding-trim  so  gay, 

She  in  her  winding-sheet. 


Then  what  were  perjured  Colin's  thoughts  ? 

How  were  tJiese  nuptials  kept  ? 
The  bridesmen  flocked  round  Lucy  dead, 

And  all  the  village  wept. 

^•59 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Confusion,  shame,  remorse,  despair, 

At  once  his  bosom  swell: 
The  damps  of  death  bedewed  his  brow, 

He  shook,  he  groaned,  he  fell. 

From  the  vain  bride,  ah,  bride  no  more! 

The  varying  crimson  fled, 
When,  stretched  before  her  rival's  corse. 

She  saw  her  husband  dead. 
Then  to  his  Lucy's  new-made  grave, 

Conveyed  by  trembling  swains, 
One  mould  with  her,  beneath  one  sod, 

For  ever  he  remains. 

Oft  at  this  grave,  the  constant  hind 

And  plighted  maid  are  seen; 
With  garlands  gay,  and  true-love  knots 

They  deck  the  sacred  green; 
But  swain  forsworn,  whoe'er  thou  art, 

This  hallowed  spot  forbear; 
Remember  Colin's  dreadful  fate, 

And  fear  to  meet  him  there. 


r.  Tickell 


384.  A  Ballad 

''  I  ^WAS  when  the  seas  were  roaring 
-'■       With  hollow  blasts  of  wind; 

A  damsel  lay  deploring, 
All  on  a  rock  reclin'd. 
660 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Wide  o'er  the  rolling  billows 

She  cast  a  wistful  look; 
Her  head  was  crowned  with  willows 

That  tremble  o'er  the  brook. 

Twelve  months  are  gone  and  over, 

And  nine  long  tedious  days: 
Why  didst  thou,  vent'rous  lover. 

Why  didst  thou  trust  the  seas  ? 
Cease,  cease,  thou  cruel  ocean. 

And  let  my  lover  rest: 
Ah!  what's  thy  troubled  motion 

To  that  within  my  breast  ? 

The  merchant,  robbed  of  pleasure. 

Sees  tempests  in  despair; 
But  what's  the  loss  of  treasure 

To  losing  of  my  dear  ? 
Should  you  some  coast  be  laid  on 

Where  gold  and  di'monds  grow. 
You'd  find  a  richer  maiden. 

But  none  that  loves  you  so. 

How  can  they  say  that  Nature 

Has  nothing  made  in  vain  .? 
Why  then  beneath  the  water 

Should  hideous  rocks  remain  ? 
No  eyes  the  rocks  discover 

That  lurk  beneath  the  deep. 
To  wreck  the  wand 'ring  lover, 

And  leave  the  maid  to  weep. 


66 1 


THE  BOOK  OP 

All  melancholy  lying, 

Thus  wailed  she  for  her  dear; 
Repaid  each  blast  with  sighing, 

Each  billow  with  a  tear; 
When  o'er  tbe  white  wave  stooping, 

His  floating  corpse  she  spied; 
Then,  like  a  lily  drooping, 

She  bow'd  her  head  and  died. 


/•  Gay 


385.  Pastnra] 

Hylas  aiicl   Mgo72 

T3ENEATH  the  shade  a  spreading  beech  displays 
^-^      Hylas  and  iEgon  sung  their  rural  lays, 
This  mourned  a  faithless,  that  an  absent  love, 
And  Delia's  nanu  and  Doris'  filled  the  grove. 
Ye  Mantuan  nymphs,  your  sacred  succour  bring; 
Hylas  and  /Egon's  rural  lays  I  sing. 

Thou,  whom  the  Nine,  with  Plautus'  wit  inspire. 
The  art  of  Terence  and  Menander's  fire; 
Whose  sense  instruct  us,  and  whose  humour  charms, 
Whose  judgment  sways  us,  and  whose  spirit  warms! 
Oh,  skilled  in  nature!  see  the  hearts  of  swains, 
Their  artless  passions,  and  their  tender  pains. 

Now  setting  Phoebus  shone  serenely  bright. 
And  fleecy  clouds  were  streaked  with  purple  light; 
When  tuneful  Hylas  v/ith  melodious  moan, 
Taught  rocks  to  weep  and  made  the  mountains  groan. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away! 
To  Delia's  ear,  the  tender  notes  convey. 
662 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

As  some  sad  turtle  his  lost  love  deplores, 
And  with  deep  murmurs  fills  the  sounding  shores; 
Thus,  far  from  Delia,  to  the  winds  I  mourn, 
Alike  unheard,  unpitied,  and  forlorn. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  along! 
For  her,  the  feathered  quires  neglect  their  song; 
For  her,  the  limes  their  pleasing  shades  deny; 
For  her,  the  lilies  hang  their  heads,  and  die. 
Ye  flowers  that  droop,  forsaken  by  the  spring, 
Ye  birds  that,  left  by  summer,  cease  to  sing, 
Ye  trees  that  fade,  when  autumn-heats  remove, 
Say,  is  not  absence  death  to  those  who  love  .'' 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away! 
Cursed  be  the  fields  that  cause  my  Delia's  stay; 
Fade  ev'ry  blossom,  wither  ev'ry  tree. 
Die  ev'ry  flower,  and  perish  all,  but  she. 
What  have  I  said  .?  where'er  my  Delia  flies. 
Let  spring  attend,  and  sudden  flow'rs  arise; 
Let  op'ning  roses  knotted  oaks  adorn, 
And  liquid  amber  drop  from  ev'ry  thorn. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  along! 
The  birds  shall  cease  to  tune  their  ev'ning  song. 
The  winds  to  breathe,  the  waving  woods  to  move. 
And  streams  to  murmur  e'er  I  cease  to  love. 
Not  bubbling  fountains  to  the  thirsty  swain. 
Not  balmy  sleep  to  lab'rers  faint  with  pain. 
Not  show'rs  to  larks,  nor  sunshine  to  the  bee, 
Are  half  so  charming  as  thy  sight  to  me. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away! 
Come,  Delia,  come;  ah,  why  this  long  delay  ? 
Thro'  rocks  and  caves  the  name  of  Delia  sounds, 
Delia,  each  cave  and  echoing  rock  rebounds. 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Ye  pow'rs,  what  pleasing  frenzy  soothes  my  mind! 
Do  lovers  dream,  or  is  my  Delia  kind  ? 
She  comes,  my  Delia  comes! — Now  cease  my  lay, 
And  cease,  ye  gales,  to  bear  my  sighs  away! 

Next  iEgon  sung,  while  Windsor  groves  admir'd; 
Rehearse,  ye  Muses,  what  yourselves  inspir'd. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strain! 
Of  perjur'd  Doris,  dying  I  complain: 
Here  where  the  mountains  less'ning  as  they  rise 
Lose  the  low  vales,  and  steal  into  the  skies: 
While  lab'ring  oxen,  spent  with  toil  and  heat, 
In  their  loose  traces  from  the  field  retreat: 
While  curling  smokes  from  village-tops  are  seen, 
And  the  fleet  shades  glide  o'er  the  dusky  green. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay! 
Beneath  yon'  poplar  oft  we  past  the  day: 
Oft  on  the  rind  I  carv'd  her  am'rous  vows. 
While  she  with  garlands  hung  the  bending  boughs: 
The  garlands  fade,  the  vows  are  worn  away; 
So  dies  her  love,  and  so  my  hopes  decay. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strain! 
Now  bright  Arcturus  glads  the  teeming  grain. 
Now  golden  fruits  on  loaded  branches  shine, 
And  grateful  clusters  swell  with  floods  of  wine; 
Now  blushing  berries  paint  the  yellow  grove; 
Just  Gods!  shall  all  things  yield  returns  but  love? 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay! 
The  shepherds  cry,  'Thy  flocks  are  left  a  prey' — 
Ah!  what  avails  it  me,  the  flocks  to  keep, 
Who  lost  my  heart  while  I  preserv'd  my  sheep. 
Pan  came,  and  ask'd,  what  magic  caused  my  smart, 
Or  what  ill  eyes  malignant  glances  dart  ? 
664 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

What  eyes  but  hers,  alas,  have  pow'r  to  move! 
And  is  there  magic  but  what  dwells  in  love  ? 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strains! 
I'll  fly  from  shepherds,  flocks,  and  flow'ry  plains. — 
From  shepherds,  flocks,  and  plains,  I  may  remove, 
Forsake  mankind,  and  all  the  world — but  love! 
I  know  thee.  Love!  on  foreign  Mountains  bred, 
Wolves  gave  thee  suck,  and  savage  tigers  fed. 
Thou  wert  from  i?itna's  burning  entrails  torn. 
Got  by  fierce  whirlwinds,  and  in  thunder  born! 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay! 
Farewell,  ye  woods!  adieu  the  light  of  day! 
One  leap  from  yonder  cliflf  shall  end  my  pains. 
No  more,  ye  hills,  no  more  resound  my  strains! 

Thus  sung  the  shepherds  till  th'  approach  of  night, 
The  skies  yet  blushing  with  departing  light, 
When  falling  dews  with  spangles  deck'd  the  glade. 
And  the  low  sun  had  lengthen'd  ev'ry  shade. 

A.  Pope 


^86.  Eloisa  to  Ahclard 

TN  these  deep  solitudes  and  awful  cells, 
-■-   Where  heav'nly-pensive  contemplation  dwells. 
And  ever-musing  melancholy  reigns; 
What  means  this  tumult  in  a  Vestal's  veins  "i 
Why  rove  my  thoughts  beyond  this  last  retreat, 
Why  feels  my  heart  its  long-forgotten  heat  .^ 
Yet,  yet  I  love! — From  Abelard  it  came, 
And  Eloisa  yet  must  kiss  the  name. 
Dear  fatal  name!  rest  ever  unreveal'd, 

665 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Nor  pass  these  lips  in  holy  silence  seal'd: 
Hide  it,  my  heart,  within  that  close  disguise, 
Where  mix'd  with  God's,  his  lov'd  Idea  lies: 

0  write  it  not  my  hand — the  name  appears 
Already  written — wash  it  out,  my  tears! 

In  vain  lost  Eloisa  weeps  and  prays. 

Her  heart  still  dictates,  and  her  hand  obeys. 

Relentless  walls!  whose  darksome  round  contains 
Repentant  sighs,  and  voluntary  pains: 
Ye  rugged  rocks!  which  holy  knees  have  worn; 
Ye  grots  and  caverns  shagg'd  with  horrid  thorn! 
Shrines!  where  their  vigils  pale-ey'd  virgins  keep, 
And  pitying  saints,  whose  statues  learn  to  weep! 
Tho'  cold  like  you,  unmov'd  and  silent  grown, 

1  have  not  yet  forgot  myself  to  stone. 

All  is  not  Heav'n's  while  Abelard  has  part, 
Still  rebel  nature  holds  out  half  my  heart; 
Nor  prayers,  nor  fasts  its  stubborn  pulse  restrain. 
Nor  tears  for  ages  taught  to  flow  in  vain. 

Soon  as  thy  letters  trembling  I  unclose. 
That  well-known  name  awakens  all  my  woes. 
Oh  name  for  ever  sad!  for  ever  dear! 
Still  breath'd  in  sighs,  still  usher'd  with  a  tear. 
I  tremble  too,  where'er  my  own  I  find. 
Line  after  line  my  gushing  eyes  o'erflow. 
Led  thro'  a  sad  variety  of  woe: 
Now  warm  in  love,  now  with'ring  in  my  bloom, 
Lost  in  a  convent's  solitary  gloom! 
There  stern  Religion  quench'd  th'  unwilling  flame. 
There  died  the  best  of  passions.  Love  and  Fame. 

Yet  write,  oh  write  me  all,  that  I  may  join 
Griefs  to  thy  griefs,  and  echo  sighs  to  thine. 

666 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Nor  foes  nor  fortune  take  this  pow'r  away; 
And  is  my  Abelard  less  kind  than  they  ? 
Tears  still  are  mine,  and  those  I  need  not  spare, 
Love  but  demands  what  else,  were  shed  in  pray'r; 
No  happier  task  these  faded  eyes  pursue; 
To  read  and  weep  is  all  they  now  can  do. 

Then  share  thy  pain,  allow  that  sad  relief; 
Ah,  more  than  share  it,  give  me  all  thy  grief. 
Heav'n  first  taught  letters  for  some  wretch's  aid, 
Some  banish'd  lover,  or  some  captive  maid; 
They  live,  they  speak,  they  breathe  what  love  inspires. 
Warm  from  the  soul,  and  faithful  to  its  fires, 
The  virgin's  wish  without  her  fears  impart, 
Excuse  the  blush,  and  pour  out  all  the  heart, 
Speed  the  soft  intercourse  from  soul  to  soul. 
And  waft  a  sigh  from  Indus  to  the  Pole. 

Thou  know'st  how  guiltless  first  I  met  thy  flame. 
When  Love  approach'd  me  under  Friendship's  name; 
My  fancy  form'd  thee  of  angelic  kind, 
Some  emanation  of  th'  all-beauteous  Mind. 
Those  smiling  eyes,  attemp'ring  ev'ry  ray, 
Shone  sweetly  lambent  with  celestial  day. 
Guiltless  I  gaz'd;  heav'n  listen'd  while  you  sung; 
And  truths  divine  came  mended  from  that  tongue 
From  lips  like  those  what  precept  fail'd  to  move  ? 
Too  soon  they  taught  me  'twas  no  sin  to  love: 
Back  thro'  the  paths  of  pleasing  sense  I  ran, 
Nor  wish'd  an  Angel  whom  I  lov'd  a  Man. 
Dim  and  remote  the  joys  of  saints  I  see; 
Nor  envy  them  that  heav'n  I  lose  for  the^. 

How  oft,  when  press'd  to  marriage,  ha/e  I  said, 
Curse  on  all  laws  but  those  which  love  lias  made  ? 

667 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Love,  free  as  air,  at  sight  of  human  ties. 

Spreads  his  hght  wings,  and  in  a  moment  flies. 

Let  wealth,  let  honour,  wait  the  wedded  dame, 

Before  true  passion  all  those  views  remove. 

Fame,  wealth,  and  honour!  what  are  you  to  Love? 

The  jealous  God,  when  we  profane  his  fires. 

Those  restless  passions  in  revenge  inspires. 

And  bids  them  make  mistaken  mortals  groan. 

Who  seek  in  love  for  aught  but  love  alone. 

Should  at  my  feet  the  world's  great  master  fall. 

Himself,  his  throne,  his  world,  I'd  scorn  'em  all: 

Not  Caesar's  empress  would  I  deign  to  prove; 

No,  make  me  mistress  to  the  man  I  love; 

If  there  be  yet  another  name  more  free. 

More  fond  than  mistress,  make  me  that  to  thee! 

Oh!  happy  state!  when  souls  each  other  draw, 

When  love  is  liberty,  and  nature  law: 

All  then  is  full,  possessing,  and  possess'd. 

No  craving  void  left  aching  in  the  breast: 

Ev'n  thought  meets  thought,  ere  from  the  lips  it  part, 

And  each  warm  wish  springs  mutual  from  the  heart. 

This  sure  is  bliss  (if  bliss  on  earth  there  be) 

And  once  the  lot  of  Abelard  and  me. 

Alas,  how  chang'd!  what  sudden  horrors  rise! 
A  naked  Lover  bound  and  bleeding  lies! 
Where,  where  was  Eloise  '(  her  voice,  her  hand. 
Her  poniard,  had  oppos'd  the  dire  command. 
Barbarian,  stay!  that  bloody  stroke  restrain; 
The  crime  was  common,  common  be  the  pain. 
I  can  no  more;  by  shame,  by  rage  suppress'd, 
Let  tears,  and  burning  blushes  speak  the  rest. 

Canst  thou  forget  that  sad,  that  solemn  day, 

668 


RESrORATION  VERSE 

When  victims  at  yon  altar's  foot  we  lay  ? 

Canst  thou  forget  what  tears  that  moment  fell, 

When,  warm  in  youth,  I  bade  the  world  farewell  ? 

As  with  cold  lips  I  kiss'd  the  sacred  veil. 

The  shrines  all  trembled,  and  the  lamps  grew  pale: 

Heav'n  scarce  believ'd  the  Conquest  it  survey'd, 

And  Saints  with  wonder  heard  the  vows  I  made. 

Yet  then,  to  those  dread  altars  as  I  drew. 

Not  on  the  Cross  my  eyes  were  fix'd,  but  you: 

Not  grace,  or  zeal,  love  only  was  my  call. 

And  if  I  lose  thy  love,  I  lose  my  all. 

Come!  with  thy  looks,  thy  words,  relieve  my  woe; 

Those  still  at  least  are  left  thee  to  bestow. 

Still  on  that  breast  enamour'd  let  me  lie. 

Still  drink  delicious  poison  from  thy  eye. 

Pant  on  thy  lip,  and  to  thy  heart  be  press'd; 

Give  all  thou  canst — and  let  me  dream  the  rest. 

Ah  no!  instruct  me  other  joys  to  prize. 

With  other  beauties  charm  my  partial  eyes, 

Full  in  my  view  set  all  the  bright  abode. 

And  make  my  soul  quit  Abelard  for  God. 

Ah,  think  at  least  thy  flock  deserves  thy  care, 
Plants  of  thy  hand,  and  children  of  thy  pray'r. 
From  the  false  world  in  early  youth  they  fled. 
By  thee  to  mountains,  wilds,  and  deserts  led. 
You  rais'd  these  hallow'd  walls;  the  desert  smil'd, 
And  Paradise  was  open'd  in  the  Wild. 
No  weeping  orphan  saw  his  father's-  stores 
Our  shrines  irradiate,  or  emblaze  the  floors; 
No  silver  saints,  by  dying  misers  giv'n. 
Here  brib'd  the  rage  of  ill-requited  heav'n: 

669 


•      THE  BOOK  OF 

But  such  plain  roofs  as  Piety  could  raise, 
And  only  vocal  with  the  Maker's  praise. 
In  these  lone  walls  (their  days  eternal  bound) 
These  moss-grown  domes  with  spiry  turrets  crown'd, 
Where  awful  arches  make  a  noon-day  night, 
And  the  dim  windows  shed  a  solemn  light; 
Thy  eyes  diffus'd  a  reconciling  ray. 
And  gleams  of  glory  brighten'd  all  the  day. 
But  now  no  face  divine  contentment  wears, 
'Tis  all  blank  sadness,  or  continual  tears. 
See  how  the  force  of  others'  pray'rs  I  try, 
(O  pious  fraud  of  am'rous  charity!) 
But  why  should  I  on  others  pray'rs  depend  ? 
Come  thou  my  father,  brother,  husband,  friend! 
Ah  let  thy  handmaid,  sister,  daughter,   move. 
And  all  those  tender  names  in  one,  thy  love! 
The  darksome  pines  that  o'er  yon  rocks  reclin'd 
Wave  high,  and  murmur  to  the  hollow  wind. 
The  wand'ring  streams  that  shine  between  the  hills, 
The  grots  that  echo  to  the  tinkling  rills. 
The  dying  gales  that  pant  upon  the  trees, 
The  lake  that  quivers  to  the  curling  breeze; 
No  more  these  scenes  my  meditation  aid, 
Or  lull  to  rest  the  visionary  maid. 
But  o'er  the  twilight  groves  and  dusky  caves. 
Long-sounding  aisles,  and  intermingled  graves. 
Black  Melancholy  sits,  and  round  her  throws 
A  death-like  silence,  and  a  dead  repose: 
Her  gloomy  presence  saddens  all  the  scene. 
Shades  ev'ry  flow'r,  and  darkens  ev'ry  green, 
Deepens  the  murmur  of  the  falling  floods. 
And  breathes  a  browner  horror  on  the  woods. 
670 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Yet  here  for  ever,  ever  must  I  stay; 
Sad  proof  how  well  a  lover  can  obey! 
Death,  only  death,  can  break  the  lasting  chain: 
And  here,  ev'n  then,  shall  my  cold  dust  remain, 
Here  all  its  frailties,  all  its  flames  resign, 
And  wait  till  'tis  no  sin  to  mix  with  thine. 

Ah  wretch!  believ'd  the  spouse  of  God  in  vain, 
Confess'd  within  the  slave  of  love  and  man. 
Assist  me,  heav'n!  but  whence  arose  that  pray'r  .'' 
Sprung  it  from  piety,  or  from  despair .? 
Ev'n  here,  where  frozen  chastity  retires, 
Love  finds  an  altar  for  forbidden  fires. 
I  ought  to  grieve,  but  cannot  what  I  ought; 
I  mourn  the  lover,  not  lament  the  fault; 
I  view  my  crime,  but  kindle  at  the  view, 
Repent  old  pleasures,  and  solicit  new; 
Now  turn'd  to  heav'n,  I  weep  my  past  ofi^ence, 
Now  think  of  thee,  and  curse  my  innocence. 
Of  all  affliction  taught  a  lover  yet, 
'Tis  sure  the  hardest  science  to  forget! 
How  shall  I  lose  the  sin,  yet  keep  the  sense. 
And  love  th'  off^ender,  yet  detest  th'  off^ence  .'' 
How  the  dear  object  from  the  crime  remove. 
Or  how  distinguish  penitence  from  love  ."" 
Unequal  task!  a  passion  to  resign. 
For  hearts  so  touch'd,  so  pierc'd,  so  lost  as  mine. 
Ere  such  a  soul  regains  its  peaceful  state. 
How  often  must  it  love,  how  often  hate! 
How  often  hope,  despair,  resent,  regret, 
Conceal,  disdain, — do  all  things  but  forget. 
But  let  heav'n  seize  it,  all  at  once  'tis  fir'd; 
Not  touch'd,  but  rapt;  not  waken'd,  but  inspir'd! 

671 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Oh  come!  oh  teach  me  nature  to  subdue, 
Renounce  my  love,  my  life,  myself — and  you 
Fill  my  fond  heart  with  God  alone,  for  he 
Alone  can  rival,  can  succeed  to  thee. 

How  happy  is  the  blameless  Vestal's  lot! 
The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot: 
Eternal  sunshine  of  the  spotless  mind! 
Each  pray'r  accepted,  and  each  wish  resign'd; 
Labour  and  rest,  that  equal  periods  keep; 
'Obedient  slumbers  that  can  wake  and  weep'; 
Desires  compos'd,  affection  ever  ev'n; 
Tears  that  delight  and  sighs,  that  waft  to  heav'n. 
Grace  shines  around  her  with  serenest  beams, 
And  whisp'ring  Angels  prompt  her  golden  dreams. 
For  her  th'  unfading  rose  of  Eden  blooms. 
And  wings  of  Seraphs  shed  divine  perfumes. 
For  her  the  Spouse  prepares  the  bridal  ring, 
For  her  white  virgins  Hymenaeals  sing. 
To  sounds  of  heav'nly  harps  she  dies  away, 
And  melts  in  visions  of  eternal  day. 

Far  other  dreams  my  erring  soul  employ, 
Far  other  raptures,  of  unholy  joy: 
When  at  the  close  of  each  sad,  sorrowing  day, 
Fancy  restores  what  vengeance  snatch'd  away. 
Then  conscience  sleeps,  and  leaving  nature  free, 
All  my  loose  soul  unbounded  springs  to  thee. 
Oh  curst,  dear  horrors  of  all-conscious  night; 
How  glowing  guilt  exalts  the  keen  delight! 
Provoking  Daemons  all  restraint  remove, 
And  stir  within  me  ev'ry  source  of  love. 
I  hear  thee,  view  thee,  gaze  o'er  all  thy  charms. 
And  round  thy  phantom  glue  my  clasping  arms. 
672 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

I  wake: — no  more  I  hear,  no  more  I  view, 

The  phantom  flies  me,  as  unkind  as  you. 

I  call  aloud;  it  hears  not  what  I  say: 

I  stretch  my  empty  arms;  it  glides  away. 

To  dream  once  more  I  close  my  willing  eyes; 

Ye  soft  illusions,  dear  deceits,  arise! 

Alas,  no  more!  methinks  we  wand'ring  go 

Thro'  dreary  wastes,  and  weep  each  other's  woe, 

Where  round  some  mould'ring  tow'r  pale  ivy  creeps, 

And  low-brow'd  rocks  hang  nodding  o'er  the  deeps. 

Sudden  you  mount,  you  beckon  from  the  skies; 

Clouds  interpose,  waves  roar,  and  winds  arise. 

I  shriek,  start  up,  the  same  sad  prospect  find. 

And  wake  to  all  the  griefs  I  left  behind. 

For  thee  the  fates,  severely  kind,  ordain 
A  cool  suspense  from  pleasure  and  from  pain; 
Thy  life  a  long  dead  calm  of  fix'd  repose; 
No  pulse  that  riots,  and  no  blood  that  glows. 
Still  as  the  sea,  ere  winds  were  taught  to  blow, 
Or  moving  spirits  bade  the  waters  flow; 
Soft  as  the  slumbers  of  a  saint  forgiv'n, 
And  mild  as  op'ning  gleams  of  promis'd  heav'n. 

Come,  Abelard!  for  what  hast  thou  to  dread? 
The  torch  of  Venus  burns  not  for  the  dead. 
Nature  stands  check'd;  Religion  disapproves; 
Ev'n  thou  art  cold — yet  Eloi'sa  loves. 
Ah  hopeless,  lasting  flames!  like  those  that  burn 
To  light  the  dead,  and  warm  th'  unfruitful  urn. 

What  scenes  appear  where'er  I  turn  my  view  ? 
The  dear  Ideas,  where  I  fly,  pursue. 
Rise  in  the  grove,  before  the  altar  rise, 
Stain  all  my  soul,  and  wanton  in  my  eyes. 

673 


TtlE  BOOK  OF 

I  waste  the  Matin  lamp  in  sighs  for  thee, 
Thy  image  steals  between  my  God  and  me, 
Thy  voice  I  seem  in  ev'ry  hymn  to  hear, 
With  ev'ry  bead  I  drop  too  soft  a  tear. 
When  from  the  censer  clouds  of  fragrance  roll. 
And  swelling  organs  lift  the  rising  soul, 
One  thought  of  thee  puts  all  the  pomp  to  flight, 
Priests,  tapers,  temples,  swim  betore  my  sight: 
In  seas  of  flame  my  plunging  soul  is  drown'd. 
While  Altars  blaze,  and  Angels  tremble  round. 

While  prostrate  here  in  humble  grief  I  lie. 
Kind,  virtuous  drops  just  gath'ring  in  my  eye, 
While  praying,  trembling,  in  the  dust  I  roll, 
And  dawning  grace  is  op'ning  on  my  soul: 
Come,  if  thou  dar'st,  all  charming  as  thou  art! 
Oppose  thyself  to  heav'n;  dispute  my  heart; 
Come,  with  one  glance  of  those  deluding  eyes 
Blot  out  each  bright  Idea  of  the  skies; 
Take  back  that  grace,  those  sorrows,  and  those  tears; 
Take  back  my  fruitless  penitence  and  pray'rs; 
Snatch  me,  just  mounting,  from  the  blest  abode; 
Assist  the  fiends,  and  tear  me  from  my  God! 

No,  fly  me,  fly  me,  far  as  Pole  from  Pole; 
Rise  Alps  between  us!  and  whole  oceans  roll! 
Ah,  come  not,  write  not,  think  not  once  of  me, 
Nor  share  one  pang  of  all  I  felt  for  thee. 
Thy  oaths  I  quit,  thy  memory  resign; 
Forget,  renounce  me,  hate  whate'er  was  mine. 
Fair  eyes,  and  tempting  looks  (which  yet  I  view!) 
Long  lov'd,  ador'd  ideas,  all  adieu! 
Oh  Grace  serene!  oh  virtue  heav'nly  fair! 
Divine  oblivion  of  low-thoughted  care! 
674 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Fresh  blooming  Hope,  gay  daughter  of  the  sky! 
And  Faith,  our  early  immortality! 
Enter,  each  mild,  each  amicable  guest; 
Receive,  and  wrap  me  in  eternal  rest! 

See  in  her  cell  sad  Elo'isa  spread, 
Propt  on  some  tomb,  a  neighbour  of  the  dead. 
In  each  low  wind  methinks  a  Spirit  calls, 
And  more  than  Echoes  talk  along  the  walls. 
Here,  as  I  watch'd  the  dying  lamps  around. 
From  yonder  shrine  I  heard  a  hollow  sound. 
'Come,  sister,  come!  (it  said,  or  seem'd  to  say) 
Thy  place  is  here,  sad  sister,  come  away! 
Once  like  thyself,  I  trembled,  wept,  and  pray'd, 
Love's  victim  then,  tho'  now  a  sainted  maid: 
But  all  is  calm  in  this  eternal  sleep; 
Here  grief  forgets  to  groan,  and  love  to  weep, 
Ev'n  superstition  loses  ev'ry  fear: 
For  God,  not  man,  absolves  our  frailties  here.' 
I  come,  I  come!  prepare  your  roseate  bow'rs. 
Celestial  palms,  and  ever-blooming  flow'rs. 
Thither,  where  sinners  may  have  rest,  I  go. 
Where  flames  refin'd  in  breasts  seraphic  glow: 
Thou,  Abelard!  the  last  sad  ofHce  pay. 
And  smooth  my  passage  to  the  realms  of  day; 
See  my  lips  tremble,  and  my  eye-balls  roll. 
Suck  my  last  breath,  and  catch  my  flying  soul! 
Ah  no — in  sacred  vestments  may'st  thou  stand. 
The  hallow'd  taper  trembling  in  thy  hand, 
Present  the  Cross  before  my  lifted  eye. 
Teach  me  at  once,  and  learn  of  me  to  die. 
Ah  then,  thy  once-lov'd  Eloisa  sec! 
It  will  be  then  no  crime  to  gaze  on  me. 

^'75 


THE  BOOK  OF 

See  from  my  cheek  the  transient  roses  fly! 
See  the  last  sparkle  languish  in  my  eye! 
Till  ev'ry  motion,  pulse,  and  breath  be  o'er; 
And  ev'n  my  Abelard  be  lov'd  no  more. 
O  Death  all-eloquent!  you  only  prove 
What  dust  we  dote  on,  when  'tis  man  we  love. 

Then  too,  when  fate  shall  thy  fair  name  destroy, 
(That  cause  of  all  my  guilt,  and  all  my  joy) 
In  trance  ecstatic  may  thy  pangs  be  drown'd, 
Bright  clouds  descend,  and  Angels  watch  thee  round, 
From  op'ning  skies  may  streaming  glories  shine. 
And  saints  embrace  thee  with  a  love  like  mine. 

May  one  kind  grave  unite  each  hapless  name. 
And  graft  my  love  immortal  on  thy  fame! 
Then,  ages  hence,  when  all  my  woes  are  o'er, 
When  this  rebellious  heart  shall  beat  no  more; 
If  ever  chance  two  wand'ring  lovers  brings 
To  Paraclete's  white  walls  and  silver  springs, 
O'er  the  pale  marble  shall  they  join  their  heads, 
And  drink  the  falling  tears  each  other  sheds; 
Then  sadly  say,  with  mutual  pity  mov'd, 
'Oh  may  we  never  love  as  these  have  lov'd!' 
From  the  full  choir  when  loud  Hosannas  rise, 
And  swell  the  pomp  of  dreadful  sacrifice, 
Amid  that  scene  if  some  relenting  eye 
Glance  on  the  stone  where  our  cold  relics  lie, 
Devotion's  self  shall  steal  a  thought  from  heav'n, 
One  human  tear  shall  drop  and  be  forgiv'n. 
And  sure,  if  fate  some  future  bard  shall  join 
In  sad  similitude  of  griefs  to  mine, 
Condemn'd  whole  years  in  absence  to  deplore, 
And  image  charms  he  must  behold  no  more; 
676 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Such  if  there  be,  who  loves  so  long,  so  well; 
Let  him  our  sad,  our  tender  story  tell; 
The  well-sung  woes  will  sooth  my  pensive  ghost; 
He  best  can  paint  'em  who  shall  feel  'em  most. 

A.  Pope 


387.  A  Pastoral 

1\  /r  Y  time,  O  ye  Muses!  was  happily  spent, 
xV  J.     When  Phebe  went  with  me  wherever  I  went, 
Ten  thousand  sweet  pleasures  I  felt  in  my  breast; 
Sure,  never  fond  Shepherd  like  Colin  was  blest. 
But  now  she  is  gone,  and  left  me  behind; 
What  a  marvellous  change  on  a  sudden  I  find; 
When  things  were  as  fine  as  could  possibly  be, 
I  thought  'twas  the  Spring;  but,  alas!  it  was  she. 

With  such  a  companion,  to  tend  a  few  sheep, 
To  rise  up  and  play,  or  to  lie  down  and  sleep; 
I  was  so  good-humoured,  so  cheerful  and  gay. 
My  heart  was  as  light  as  a  feather  all  day. 
But  now  I  so  cross  and  so  peevish  am  grown. 
So  strangely  uneasy,  as  never  was  known. 
My  Fair  One  is  gone,  and  my  joys  are  all  drowned. 
And  my  heart — I  am  sure,  it  weighs  more  than  a  pound. 

The  fountain,  that  wont  to  run  sweetly  along 
And  dance  to  soft  murmurs  the  pebbles  among, 
Thou  know'st,  little  Cupid,  if  Phebe  were  there, 
'Twas  pleasure  to  look  at,  'twas  music  to  hear. 

677 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  now  she  is  absent,  I  walk  by  its  side, 

And  still,  as  it  murmurs,  do  nothing  but  chide; 

'Must  you  be  so  cheerful,  while  I  go  in  pain? 

Peace  there,  with  your  bubbling,  and  hear  me  complain!' 

My  lambkins,  around  me  would  oftentimes  play, 
And  Phebe  and  I  were  as  joyful  as  they; 
How  pleasant  their  sporting,  how  happy  their  time, 
When  Spring,  Love,  and  Beauty  were  all  in  their  prime. 
But  now,  in  their  frolics  when  by  me  they  pass, 
I  fling  at  their  fleeces  a  handful  of  grass. 
'Be  still,  then!'  I  cry,  'for  it  makes  me  quite  mad, 
To  see  you  so  merry,  while  I  am  so  sad.' 

My  dog  I  was  ever  well  pleased  to  see 
Come  wagging  his  tail  to  my  Fair  One  and  me; 
And  Phebe  was  pleased  too,  and  to  my  dog  said, 
'Come  hither,  poor  fellow,'  and  patted  his  head. 
But  now,  when  he's  fawning,  I  with  a  sour  look, 
C''y.  'Sirrah!'  and  give  him  a  blow  with  my  crook: 
And  I'll  give  him  another;  for  why  should  not  Tray 
Be  as  dull  as  his  master,  when  Phebe's  away  I 

When  walking  with  Phebe,  what  sights  have  I  seen! 
How  fair  was  the  flower,  how  fresh  was  the  green! 
What  a  lovely  appearance  the  trees  and  the  shade, 
The  cornfields  and  hedges,  and  every  thing,  made. 
But  now  she  has  left  me,  though  all  are  still  there, 
They  none  of  them  now  so  delightful  appear; 
'Twas  naught  but  the  magic,  I  find,  of  her  eyes 
Made  so  many  beautiful  prospects  arise. 
678 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Sweet  music  went  with  us  both,  all  the  wood  through, 
The  lark,  linnet,  throstle,  and  nightingale  too. 
Winds  over  us  whispered,  flocks  by  us  did  bleat; 
And  chirp  went  the  grasshopper  under  our  feet. 
But  now  she  is  absent,  though  still  they  sing  on, 
The  woods  are  but  lonely,  the  melody's  gone; 
Her  voice  in  the  consort,  as  now  I  have  found, 
Gave  every  thing  else  its  agreeable  sound. 

Rose,  what  is  become  of  thy  delicate  hue  ? 
And  where  is  the  violet's  beautiful  blue  ? 
Does  aught  of  its  sweetness  the  blossom  beguile  ? 
That  meadow,  those  daisies,  why  do  they  not  smile  ? 
Ah,  rivals!  I  see  what  it  was,  that  you  drest 
And  made  yourselves  fine  for!  a  place  in  her  breast; 
You  put  on  your  colours  to  pleasure  her  eye; 
To  be  plucked  by  her  hand,  on  her  bosom  to  die. 

How  slowly  time  creeps  till  my  Phebe  returns! 
While  amidst  the  soft  zephyr's  cool  breezes  I  burn. 
Methinks,  if  I  knew  whereabouts  he  would  tread; 
I  could  breathe  on  his  wings,  and  'twould  meltdown  the  lead. 
¥\y  swifter,  ye  minutes,  bring  hither  my  dear. 
And  rest  so  much  longer  for't,  when  she  is  here. 
Ah,  Colin!  old  Time  is  full  of  delay; 
Nor  will  budge  one  foot  faster,  for  all  thou  canst  say. 

Will  no  pitying  power  that  hears  me  complain, 
Or  cure  my  disquiet,  or  soften  my  pain  ? 
To  be  cured,  thou  must,  Colin,  thy  Passion  remove; 
But  what  swain  is  so  silly  to  live  without  love  ? 

679 


THE  BOOK  OF 

No,  Deity!  bid  the  dear  Nymph  to  return, 
For  ne'er  was  poor  Shepherd  so  sadly  forlorn. 
Ah!  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  shall  die  with  despair; 
Take  heed,  all  ye  swains,  how  ye  part  with  your  Fair! 

] .  Byrom 

S88.  On  My  Birthday 

T  ,  MY  dear,  was  born  to-day, 

-^      So  all  my  jolly  comrades  say; 

They  bring  me  music,  wreaths,  and  mirth, 

And  ask  to  celebrate  my  birth: 

Little,  alas!  my  comrades  know 

That  I  was  born  to  pain  and  woe; 

To  thy  denial,  to  thy  sccrn. 

Better  I  had  ne'er  been  born: 

I  wish  to  die,  even  whilst  I  say, 

'I,  my  dear,  was  born  to-day.  * 

I,  my  dear,  was  born  to-day, 
Shall  I  salute  the  rising  ray  ? 
Well-spring  of  all  my  joy  and  woe, 
Clotilda,  thou  alone  dost  know. 
Shall  the  wreath  surround  my  hair  ? 
Or  shall  the  music  please  my  ear  ? 
Shall  I  my  comrades'  mirth  receive. 
And  bless  my  birth,  and  wish  to  live  ? 
Then  let  me  see  great  Venus  chase 
Imperious  anger  from  thy  face; 
Then  let  me  hear  thee  smiling  say, 
'Thou,  my  dear,  wert  born  to-day.' 

M.  Prior 
680 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Stella's  Birthday    1720 

A  LL  travellers  at  first  incline 
-^^  *-     Where'er  they  see  the  fairest  sign; 
And  if  they  find  the  chambers  neat, 
And  like  the  liquor  and  the  meat, 
Will  call  again,  and  recommend 
The  Angel  Inn  to  every  friend. 
What  though  the  painting  grows  decay'd, 
The  house  will  never  lose  its  trade: 
Nay,  though  the  treacherous  tapster,  Thomas, 
Hangs  a  new  Angel  two  doors  from  us, 
As  fine  as  daubers'  hands  can  make  it. 
In  hopes  that  strangers  may  mistake  it, 
We  think  it  both  a  shame  and  sin 
To  quit  the  true  old  Angel  Inn. 

Now  this  is  Stella's  case  in  fact. 
An  angel's  face  a  little  crack'd, 
(Could  poets  or  could  painters  fix 
How  angels  look  at  thirty-six:) 
This  drew  us  in  at  first  to  find 
In  such  a  form  an  angel's  mind; 
And  every  virtue  now  supplies 
The  fainting  rays  of  Stella's  eyes. 
See  at  her  levee  crowding  swains, 
Whom  Stella  freely  entertains 
With  breeding,  humour,  wit,  and  sense, 
And  puts  them  but  to  small  expense; 
Their  minds  so  plentifully  fills, 
And  makes  such  reasonable  bills, 
So  little  gets  for  what  she  gives. 
We  really  wonder  how  she  lives! 

681 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  had  her  stock  been  less,  no  doubt 
She  must  have  long  ago  run  out. 

Then  who  can  think  we'll  quit  the  place, 
When  Doll  hangs  out  a  newer  face  ? 
Or  stop  and  light  at  Chloe's  head, 
With  scraps  and  leavings  to  be  fed  ? 

Then,  Chloe,  still  go  on  to  prate 
Of  thirty-six  and  thirty-eight; 
Pursue  your  trade  of  scandal-picking. 
Your  hints  that  Stella  is  no  chicken; 
Your  innuendoes,  when  you  tell  us, 
That  Stella  loves  to  talk  with  fellows: 
And  let  me  warn  you  to  believe 
A  truth,  for  which  your  soul  should  grieve; 
That  should  you  live  to  see  the  day. 
When  Stella's  locks  must  all  be  gray. 
When  age  must  print  a  furrow'd  trace 
On  every  feature  of  her  face; 
Though  you  and  all  your  senseless  tribe, 
Could  art,  or  time,  or  nature  bribe, 
To  make  you  look  like  Beauty's  Queen, 
And  hold  for  ever  at  fifteen; 
No  bloom  of  youth  can  ever  blind 
The  cracks  and  wrinkles  of  your  mind: 
All  men  of  sense  will  pass  your  door, 
And  crowd  to  Stella's  at  four-score. 


y.  Sivift 


682 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

^go.  Stella's  Birthday,  March    13,    1727 

'T^^'HIS  day,  whate'er  the  Fates  decree, 
-■-       Shall  still  be  kept  with  joy  by  me. 
This  day,  then,  let  us  not  be  told 
That  you  are  sick,  and  I  grown  old; 
Nor  think  on  our  approaching  ills. 
And  talk  of  spectacles  and  pills. 
To-morrow  will  be  time  enough 
To  hear  such  mortifying  stuff. 
Yet,  since  from  reason  may  be  brought 
A  better  and  more  pleasing  thought, 
Which  can  in  spite  of  all  decays 
Support  a  few  remaining  days, 
From  not  the  gravest  of  divines 
Accept  for  once  some  serious  lines. 

Although  we  now  can  form  no  more 
Long  schemes  of  life,  as  heretofore. 
Yet  }ou,  while  time  is  running  fast, 
Can  look  with  joy  on  what  is  past. 
Were  future  happiness  and  pain 
A  mere  contrivance  of  the  brain; 
As  atheists  argue,  to  entice 
And  fit  their  proselytes  for  vice 
(The  only  comfort  they  propose. 
To  have  companions  in  their  woes) — • 
Grant  this  the  case,  yet  sure  'tis  hard 
That  virtue,  styled  its  own  reward. 
And  by  all  sages  understood 
To  be  the  chief  of  human  good. 
Should  acting  die,  nor  leave  behind 
Some  lasting  pleasure  in  the  mind, 

683 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Which,  by  remembrance,  will  assuage 
Grief,  sickness,  poverty,  and  age; 
And  strongly  shoot  a  radiant  dart 
To  shine  through  life's  declining  part. 

Say,  Stella,  teel  you  no  content. 
Reflecting  on  a  life  well  spent  ? 
Your  skilful  hand  employed  to  save 
Despairing  wretches  from  the  grave, 
And  then  supporting  with  your  store 
Those  whom  you  dragged  from  death  before: 
So  Providence  on  mortals  waits, 
Preserving  what  it  first  creates. 
Your  gen'rous  boldness  to  defend 
An  innocent  and  absent  friend; 
That  courage  which  can  make  you  just 
To  merit  humbled  in  the  dust; 
The  detestation  you  express 
For  vice  in  all  its  glittering  dress; 
That  patience  under  tort'ring  pain. 
Where  stubborn  Stoics  would  complain; 
Must  these  like  empty  shadows  pass. 
Or  forms  reflected  from  a  glass. 
Or  mere  chimaeras  in  the  mind, 
That  fly,  and  leave  no  marks  behind  ? 
Does  not  the  body  thrive  and  grow 
By  food  of  twenty  years  ago  ? 
And,  had  it  not  been  still  supplied. 
It  must  a  thousand  times  have  died; 
Then  who  with  reason  can  maintain 
That  no  effects  of  food  remain  1 
And  is  not  virtue  in  mankind 
The  nutriment  that  feeds  the  mind, 
6S4 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Upheld  by  each  good  action  past, 
And  still  continued  by  the  last  ? 
Then  who  with  reason  can  pretend 
That  all  effects  of  virtue  end  ? 

Believe  me,  Stella,  when  you  show 
That  true  contempt  for  things  below, 
Nor  prize  your  life  for  other  ends 
Than  merely  to  oblige  your  friends. 
Your  former  actions  claim  their  part, 
And  join  to  fortify  your  heart: 
For  Virtue,  in  her  daily  race. 
Like  Janus,  bears  a  double  face; 
Looks  back  with  joy  where  she  has  gone. 
And  therefore  goes  with  courage  on. 
She  at  your  sickly  couch  will  wait, 
And  guide  you  to  a  better  state. 

O  then,  whatever  Heaven  intends. 
Take  pity  on  your  pitying  friends! 
Nor  let  your  ills  affect  your  mind 
To  fancy  they  can  be  unkind. 
Me,  surely  me,  you  ought  to  spare, 
Who  gladly  would  your  suff'ring  share, 
Or  give  my  scrap  of  life  to  you. 
And  think  it  far  beneath  your  due; 
You,  to  whose  care  so  oft  I  owe 
That  I'm  alive  to  tell  you  so. 


/.  S^vift 


685 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  Secrelary,  Writ  ten  at  TJie  Hague 
39  ^  ■  ^"  ^^^^  Year  1696 

"\  A  THILE  with  labour  assid'ous  due  pleasure  I  mix, 
*  *        And  in  one  day  atone  for  the  business  of  six, 
In  a  little  Dutch-chaise  on  a  Saturday  night, 
On  my  left  hand  my  Horace,  a  Nymph  on  my  right. 
No  Aiemoire  to  compose,  and  no  Post-Boy  to  move. 
That  on  Sunday  may  hinder  the  softness  of  love; 
For  her,  neither  visits,  nor  parties  of  tea. 
Nor  the  long-winded  cant  of  a  dull  refugee. 
This  nigiit  and  the  next  shall  be  hers,  shall  be  mine. 
To  good  or  ill  fortune  the  third  we  resign: 
Thus  scorning  the  world,  and  superior  to  fate, 
I  drive  on  my  car  in  professional  state; 
So  with  Phia  thro'  Athens  Pisistratus  rode, 
Men  thought  her  Minerva,  and  him  a  new  god. 
But  why  should  I  stories  of  Athens  rehearse. 
Where  people  knew  love,  and  were  partial  to  verse, 
Since  none  can  with  justice  my  pleasures  oppose, 
In  Holland  half  drowned  in  int'rest  and  prose: 
By  Greece  and  past  ages,  what  need  I  be  tried. 
When  the  Hague  and  the  present,  are  both  on  my  side. 
And  is  it  enough,  for  the  joys  ot  the  day; 
To  think  what  Anacreon,  or  Sappho  would  say. 
When  good  Vandergoes,  and  his  provident  Vrough, 
As  they  gaze  on  my  triumph,  do  freely  allow. 
That,  search  all  the  province,  you'd  find  no  man  there  is 
So  blessed  as  the  Englishen  Heer  SECRETARIS. 

M.  Prior 


686 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

^g2.  The  Jugglers 

A     JUGGLER  long  through  all  the  town 
■*■   *■     Had  raised  his  fortune  and  renown; 
You'd  think  (so  far  his  art  transcends) 
The  devil  at  his  fingers'  ends. 

Vice  heard  his  fame,  she  read  his  hill; 
Convinced  of  his  inferior  skill, 
She  sought  his  booth,  and  from  the  crowd 
Defied  the  man  of  art  aloud. 

'  Is  this,  then,  he  so  famed  for  sleight  ^ 
Can  this  slow  bungler  cheat  your  sight  ^ 
Dares  he  with  me  dispute  the  prize  ^ 
I  leave  it  to  impartial  eyes.' 

Provoked,  the  Juggler  cried,  "Tis  done. 
In  science  I  submit  to  none.' 

Thus  said,  the  cups  and  balls  he  play'd; 
By  turns,  this  here,  that  there,  convey'd 
The  cards,  obedient  to  his  words, 
Are  by  a  fillip  turn'd  to  birds. 
His  little  boxes  change  the  grain: 
Trick  after  trick  deludes  the  train. 
He  shakes  his  bag,  he  shows  all  fair; 
His  fingers  spreads,  and  nothing  there; 
Then  bids  it  rain  with  showers  of  gold, 
And  now  his  ivory  eggs  are  told. 
But  when  from  thence  the  hen  he  draws, 
Amazed  spectators  hum  applause. 

Vice  now  stept  forth,  and  took  the  place 
With  all  the  forms  of  his  grimace. 

'This  magic  looking-glass,'  she  cries 
'(There,  hand  it  round),  will  charm  your  eyes.' 

687 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Each  eager  eye  the  sight  desired, 
And  every  man  himself  admired. 

Next,  to  a  senator  addressing, 
'See  this  bank-note;  observe  the  blessing. 
Breathe  on  the  bill.  Heigh,  pass!  'Tis  gone.' 
Upon  his  lips  a  padlock  shown. 
A  second  puff  the  magic  broke, 
The  padlock  vanish'd,  and  he  spoke. 

Twelve  bottles  ranged  upon  the  board. 
All  full,  with  heady  liquor  stored. 
By  clean  conveyance  disappear. 
And  now  two  bloody  swords  are  there. 

A  purse  she  to  a  thief  exposed. 
At  once  his  ready  fingers  closed; 
He  opes  his  fist,  the  treasure's  fled; 
He  sees  a  halter  in  its  stead. 

She  bids  ambition  hold  a  wand; 
He  grasps  a  hatchet  in  his  hand. 

A  box  of  charity  she  shows: 
Blow  here;  and  a  churchwarden  blows. 
'Tis  vanish'd  with  conveyance  neat, 
And  on  the  table  smokes  a  treat. 

She  shakes  the  dice,  the  board  she  knocks, 
And  from  her  pockets  fills  her  box. 

She  next  a  meagre  rake  addrest. 
'This  picture  see;  her  shape,  her  breast! 
What  youth,  and  what  inviting  eyes! 
Hold  her,  and  have  her.'  With  surprise, 
His  hand  exposed  a  box  of  pills 
And  a  loud  laugh  proclaim'd  his  ills. 

A  counter,  in  a  miser's  hand 
Grew  twenty  guineas  at  command. 

688 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

She  bids  his  heir  the  sum  retain, 
And  'tis  a  counter  now  again. 

A  guinea  with  her  torch  you  see 
Takes  every  shape,  but  Charity; 
And  not  one  thing  you  saw,  or  drew, 
But  changed  from  what  was  first  in  view. 

The  Juggler  now  in  grief  of  heart, 
With  this  submission  own'd  her  art. 
'Can  I  such  matchless  sleight  withstand? 
How  practice  hath  improved  your  hand! 
But  now  and  then  I  cheat  the  throng; 
You  every  day,  and  all  day  long.' 


J95.         The  Goat  Without  a  Beard 


J.   Gay 


'  I  'IS  certain,  that  the  modish  passions 

-•■       Descend  among  the  crowd,  like  fashions. 
Excuse  me,  then,  if  pride,  conceit, 
(The  manners  of  the  fair  and  great) 
I  give  to  monkeys,  asses,  dogs, 
Fleas,  owls,  goats,  butterflies,  and  hogs. 
I  say  that  these  are  proud.  What  then  .? 
I  never  said  they  equal  men! 

A  Goat  (as  vain  as  Goat  can  be) 
Affected  singularity. 
Whene'er  a  thymy  bank  he  found. 
He  roll'd  upon  the  fragrant  ground, 
And  then  with  fond  attention  stood, 
Fix'd  o'er  his  image  in  the  flood. 

*I  hate  my  frowsy  beard,'  he  cries, 
'My  youth  is  lost  in  this  disguise. 

689 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Did  not  the  females  know  my  vigour, 
Well  might  they  loath  this  rev'rend  figure.' 

Resolved  to  smooth  his  shaggy  face 
He  sought  the  barber  of  the  place 
A  flippant  monkey,  spruce  and  smart, 
Hard  by,  profess'd  the  dapper  art: 
His  pole,  with  pewter  basins  hung, 
Black  rotten  teeth  in  order  hung. 
Ranged  cups,  that  in  the  window  stood, 
Lined  with  red  rags  to  Jook  like  blood. 
Did  well  his  threefold  trade  explain, 
Who  shaved,  drew  teeth,  and  breathed  a  vein. 

The  Goat  he  welcomes  with  an  air. 
And  seats  him  in  his  wooden  chair: 
Mouth,  nose,  and  cheek,  the  lather  hides; 
Light,  smooth,  and  swift,  the  razor  glides. 

'I  hope  your  custom,  Sir,'  says  Pug; 
'Sure  never  face  was  halt  so  smug.' 

The  Goat,  impatient  for  applause, 
Swift  to  the  neighbouring  hill  withdraws; 
The  shaggy  people  grinn'd  and  stared. 
'Heighday!  what's  here?  without  a  beard! 
Say,  brother,  whence  the  dire  disgrace  ? 
What  envious  hand  hath  robb'd  your  face  ?' 

When  thus  the  fop  with  smiles  of  scorn: 
'Are  beards  by  civil  nations  worn  ? 
Even  Muscovites  have  mowed  their  chins. 
Shall  we,  like  formal  Capuchins, 
Stubborn  in  pride,  retain  the  mode. 
Which  bear  about  the  hairy  load  ? 
Whene'er  we  through  the  village  stray, 
Are  we  not  mocked  along  the  way, 
690 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Insulted  with  loud  shouts  of  scorn, 

By  boys  our  beards  disgraced  and  torn  ?' 

'Were  you  no  more  with  goats  to  dwell, 
Brother,  I  grant  you  reason  well,' 
Replies  a  bearded  chief.  Beside 
If  boys  can  mortify  thy  pride, 
How  wilt  thou  stand  the  ridicule 
Of  our  whole  flock  ?  afi^ected  fool! 
Coxcombs,  distinguished  from  the  rest, 
To  all  but  coxcombs  are  a  jest.' 

].  Gay 

The  Hare  JVith  Many  Friends 

T7RIENDSHIP,  like  love,  is  but  a  name, 
-■-        Unless  to  one  you  stint  the  flame. 
The  child,  whom  many  fathers  share. 
Hath  seldom  known  a  father's  care. 
'Tis  thus  in  friendships;  who  depend 
On  many,  rarely  find  a  friend. 

A  Hare  who,  in  a  civil  way, 
Complied  with  ev'ry  thing,  like  Gay, 
Was  known  by  all  the  bestial  train. 
Who  haunt  the  wood,  or  graze  the  plain. 
Her  care  was,  never  to  ofi^end. 
And  ev'ry  creature  was  her  friend. 

As  forth  she  went  at  early  dawn 
To  taste  the  dew-besprinkled  lawn, 
Behind  she  hears  the  hunter's  cries. 
And  from  the  deep-mouth'd  thunder  flies. 
She  starts,  she  stops,  she  pants  for  breath; 
She  hears  the  near  advance  of  death; 

691 


THE  BOOK  OF 

She  doubles  to  mislead  the  hound, 
And  measures  back  her  mazy  round; 
Till,  fainting  in  the  public  way. 
Half-dead  with  fear,  she  gasping  lay. 

What  transport  in  her  bosom  grew. 
When  first  the  Horse  appear'd  in  view! 

'Let  me,'  says  she,  'your  back  ascend, 
And  owe  my  safety  to  a  friend. 
You  know  my  feet  betray  my  flight; 
To  friendship  every  burden's  light.' 

The  Horse  replied:  'Poor  honest  Puss, 
It  grieves  my  heart  to  see  thee  thus; 
Be  comforted,  relief  is  near; 
For  all  your  friends  are  in  the  rear.' 

She  next  the  stately  Bull  implored. 
And  thus  replied  the  mighty  Lord: 
'Since  ev'ry  beast  alive  can  tell 
That  I  sincerely  wish  you  well, 
I  may,  without  offence,  pretend 
To  take  the  freedom  of  a  friend. 
Love  calls  me  hence;  a  fav'rite  cow 
Expects  me  near  yon  barley-mow; 
And  when  a  lady's  in  the  case. 
You  know  all  other  things  give  place. 
To  leave  you  thus  might  seem  unkind, 
But  see,  the  Goat  is  just  behind.' 

The  Goat  remark'd  her  pulse  was  high. 
Her  languid  head,  her  heavy  eye: 
'My  back,'  says  he,  'may  do  you  harm; 
The  Sheep's  at  hand,  and  wool  is  warm.' 

The  Sheep  was  feeble,  and  complain'd 
His  sides  a  load  of  wool  sustain'd: 
692 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Said  he  was  slow,  confess'd  his  fears; 
For  hounds  eat  Sheep  as  well  as  Hares! 

She  now  the  trotting  Calf  address'd; 
To  save  from  death  a  friend  distress'd: 

'Shall  I,'  says  he,  'of  tender  age, 
In  this  important  care  engage  ? 
Older  and  abler  pass'd  you  by; 
How  strong  are  those!  how  weak  am  I! 
Should  I  presume  to  bear  you  hence, 
Those  friends  of  mine  may  take  offence. 
Excuse  me,  then.  You  know  my  heart 
But  dearest  friends,  alas!  must  part; 
How  shall  we  all  lament!  Adieu, 
For  see  the  hounds  are  just  in  view. 


J.  Gay 


Apollo's  Edict 

Occasioned  by  'News  from  Parnassus' 

TRELAND  is  now  our  care, 
■*-  We  lately  fix'd  our  viceroy  there: 
How  near  was  she  to  be  undone, 
Till  pious  love  inspired  her  son! 
What  cannot  our  vicegerent  do, 
As  poet  and  as  patriot  too  ? 
Let  his  success  our  subjects  sway, 
Our  inspirations  to  obey. 
And  follow  where  he  leads  the  way. 
Then  study  to  correct  your  taste. 
Nor  beaten  paths  be  longer  traced. 
No  simile  shall  be  begun. 


693 


THE  BOOK  OF 

With  rising  or  with  setting  sun; 
And  let  the  secret  head  of  Nile 
Be  ever  banished  from  your  isle. 

When  wretched  lovers  live  on  air, 
I  beg  you'll  the  chameleon  spare; 
And  when  you'd  make  a  hero  grander, 
Forget  he's  like  a  salamander. 

No  son  of  mine  shall  dare  to  say, 
Aurora  ushered  in  the  day, 
Or  ever  name  the  milky-way. 
You  all  agree,  I  make  no  doubt, 
Elijah's  mantle  is  worn  out. 

The  bird  of  Jove  shall  toil  no  more 
To  teach  the  humble  wren  to  soar. 
Your  tragic  heroes  shall  not  rant, 
Nor  shepherds  use  poetic  cant. 
Simplicity  alone  can  grace 
The  manners  of  the  rural  race. 
Theocritus  and  Philips  be 
Your  guides  to  true  simplicity. 

When  Damon's  soul  shall  take  its  flight, 
Though  poets  have  the  second-sight, 
They  shall  not  see  a  trail  of  light. 
Nor  shall  the  vapours  upwards  rise. 
Nor  a  new  star  adorn  the  skies; 
For  who  can  hope  to  place  one  there, 
As  glorious  as  Belinda's  hair.'' 
Yet,  if  his  name  you'd  eternise. 
And  must  exalt.him  to  the  skies. 
Without  a  star  this  may  be  done: 
So  Tickell  mourn'd  his  Addison. 

If  Anna's  happy  reign  you  praise, 
694 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Pray,  not  a  word  of  halcyon  days; 
Nor  let  my  votaries  show  their  skill 
In  aping  lines  from  Cooper's  Hill; 
For  know  I  cannot  bear  to  hear 
The  mimicry  ot  deep,  yet  clear. 

Whene'er  my  viceroy  is  address'd, 
Against  the  phoenix  I  protest. 
When  poets  soar  in  youthful  strains. 
No  Phaeton  to  hold  the  reins. 

When  you  describe  a  lovely  girl. 
No  lips  of  coral,  teeth  of  pearl. 

Cupid  shall  ne'er  mistake  another. 
However  beauteous,  for  his  mother; 
Nor  shall  his  darts  at  random  fly 
From  magazine  in  Celia's  eye. 
With  woman  compounds  I  am  cloy'd, 
Which  only  pleased  in  Biddy  Floyd. 
For  foreign  aid  what  need  they  roam. 
Whom  fate  has  amply  blest  at  home  ? 

Unerring  Heaven,  with  bounteous  hand, 
Has  form'd  a  model  for  your  land. 
Whom  Jove  endued  with  every  grace; 
The  glory  of  the  Granard  race; 
Now  destined  by  the  powers  divine 
The  blessing  of  another  line. 
Then,  would  you  paint  a  matchless  dame, 
Whom  you'd  consign  to  endless  fame  ? 
Invoke  not  Cytherea's  aid. 
Nor  borrow  from  the  blue-eyed  maid; 
Nor  need  you  on  the  Graces  call; 
Take  qualities  from  Donegal. 

J.  Swift 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Sg6.         An  Account  of  the  Greatest 
English  Poets 

SINCE,  dearest  Harry,  you  will  needs  request 
A  short  account  of  all  the  muse-possest. 
That,  down  from  Chaucer's  days  to  Dryden's  times. 
Have  spent  their  noble  rage  in  British  rhymes; 
Without  more  preface,  writ  in  formal  length. 
To  speak  the  undertaker's  want  of  strength, 
I'll  try  to  make  their  several  beauties  known. 
And  show  their  verses  worth  tho'  not  my  own. 

Long  had  our  dull  forefathers  slept  supine. 
Nor  felt  the  raptures  of  the  tuneful  Nine, 
Till  Chaucer  first,  a  merry  bard,  arose, 
And  many  a  story  told  in  rhyme  and  prose. 
But  age  has  rusted  what  the  poet  writ, 
Worn  out  his  language,  and  obscured  his  wit; 
In  vain  he  jests  in  his  unpolished  strain. 
And  tries  to  make  his  readers  laugh  in  vain. 

Old  Spenser  next,  warmed  with  poetic  rage, 
In  ancient  tales  amused  a  barb'rous  age; 
An  age  that  yet  uncultivate  and  rude, 
W^iere'er  the  poet's  fancy  led,  pursu'd 
Through  pathless  fields,  and  unfrequented  floods, 
To  dens  of  dragons,  and  enchanted  woods. 
But  now  the  mystic  tale  that  pleased  of  yore. 
Can  charm  an  understanding  age  no  more; 
The  long-spun  allegories  fulsome  grow. 
While  the  dull  moral  lies  too  plain  below. 
We  view  well-pleased  at  distance  all  the  sights 
Of  arms  and  palfreys,  battles,  fields,  and  fights, 
And  damsels  in  distress,  and  courteous  knights. 

6o5 


RESTORATION  VERSE    . 

But  when  we  look  too  near  the  shades  decay, 
And  all  the  pleasing  landscape  fades  away. 

Great  Cowley  then  (a  mighty  genius)  wrote, 
O'er-run  with  wit,  and  lavish  of  his  thought; 
His  turns  too  closely  on  the  reader  press: 
He  had  more  pleased  us  had  he  pleased  us  less. 
One  glittering  thought  no  sooner  strikes  our  eyes 
With  silent  wonder,  but  new  wonders  rise. 
As  in  the  milky-way  a  shining  white 
O'erflows  the  heav'ns  with  one  continued  light; 
That  not  a  single  star  can  shew  his  rays. 
Whilst  jointly  all  promote  the  common  blaze. 
Pardon,  great  poet,  that  I  dare  to  name 
Th'  unnumbered  beauties  of  thy  verse  with  blame; 
Thy  fault  is  only  wit  in  its  excess, 
But  wit  like  thine  in  any  shape  will  please. 
What  muse  but  thine  can  equal  hints  inspire. 
And  fit  the  deep-mouthed  Pindar  to  thy  lyre: 
Pindar,  whom  others  in  a  laboured  strain, 
And  forced  expression  imitate  in  vain. 
Well-pleased  in  thee  he  soars  with  new  delight, 
And  plays  in  more  unbounded  verse,  and  takes  a  nobler  flight. 

Blest  man!  whose  spotless  life  and  charming  lays 
Employed  the  tuneful  prelate  in  thy  praise: 
Blest  man!  who  now  shalt  be  for  ever  known 
In  Sprat's  successful  labours  and  thy  own. 

But  Milton,  next,  with  high  and  haughty  stalks, 
Unfettered  in  majestic  numbers  walks; 
No  vulgar  hero  can  his  muse  engage, 
Nor  earth's  wide  scene  confine  his  hallow'd  rage. 
See!  see,  he  upward  springs,  and  towering  high 
Spurns  the  dull  province  of  mortality, 

697 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Sh-akes  heaven's  eternal  throne  with  dire  alarms, 

And  sets  the  Almighty  thunderer  in  arms. 

Whate'er  his  pen  describes  I  more  than  see, 

Whilst  every  verse  arrayed  in  majesty, 

Bold  and  sublime,  my  whole  attention  draws, 

And  seems  above  the  critic's  nicer  laws. 

How  are  you  struck  with  terror  and  delight. 

When  angel  with  arch-angel  copes  in  fight! 

When  great  Messiah's  out-spread  banner  shines. 

How  does  the  chariot  rattle  in  his  lines! 

What  sounds  of  brazen  wheels,  what  thunder,  scare, 

And  stun  the  reader  with  the  din  of  war! 

With  fear  my  spirits  and  my  blood  retire, 

To  see  the  seraphs  sunk  in  clouds  of  fire; 

But  when,  with  eager  steps,  from  hence  I  rise. 

And  view  the  first  gay  scenes  of  Paradise, 

What  tongue,  what  words  of  rapture  can  express 

A  vision  so  profuse  of  pleasantness. 

Oh  had  the  poet  ne'er  profaned  his  pen. 

To  varnish  o'er  the  guilt  of  faithless  men; 

His  other  works  might  have  deserved  applause. 

But  now  the  language  can't  support  the  cause. 

While  the  clean  current,  though  serene  and  bright. 

Betrays  a  bottom  odious  to  the  sight. 

But  now  my  muse  a  softer  strain  rehearse, 
Turn  every  line  with  art,  and  smooth  thy  verse; 
The  courtly  Waller  next  commands  thy  lays: 
Muse  tune  thy  verse  with  art,  to  Waller's  praise. 
While  tender  airs  and  lovely  dames  inspire 
Soft  melting  thoughts  and  propagate  desire. 
So  long  shall  Waller's  strains  our  passions  move, 
And  Sacharissa's  beauties  kindle  love. 
698 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thy  verse,  harmonious  bard,  and  flatt'ring  song. 
Can  make  the  vanquished  great,  and  covs^ard  strong; 
Thy  verse  can  show  ev'n  Cromwell's  innocence. 
And  compliment  the  storms  that  bore  him  hence. 
Oh  had  thy  muse  not  come  an  age  too  soon. 
But  seen  great  Nassau  on  the  British  throne! 
How  had  his  triumphs  glittered  in  thy  page, 
And  warmed  thee  to  a  more  exalted  rage. 
What  scenes  of  death  and  horror  had  we  view'd, 
And  how  had  Boyne's  wide  current  reek'd  in  blood. 
Or,  if  Maria's  charms  thou  would'st  rehearse 
In  smoother  numbers  and  a  softer  verse, 
Thy  pen  had  well  described  her  graceful  air, 
And  Gloriana  would  have  seemed  more  fair. 

Nor  must  Roscommon  pass  neglected  by, 
That  makes  ev'n  rules  a  noble  poetry; 
Rules,  whose  deep  sense  and  heav'nly  numbers  show 
The  best  of  critics  and  of  poets  too. 
Nor  Denham,  must  we  e'er  forget  thy  strains. 
While  Cooper's  Hill  commands  the  neighb'ring  plains. 

But  see  where  artful  Dryden  next  appears 
Grown  old  in  rhyme,  but  charming  ev'n  in  years. 
Great  Dryden  next,  whose  tuneful  muse  affords 
The   sweetest  numbers  and  the  fittest  words. 
Whether  in  comic  sounds  or  tragic  airs 
She  forms  her  voice,  she  moves  our  smiles  or  tears. 
If  satire  or  heroic  strains  she  writes. 
Her  hero  pleases,  and  her  satire  bites. 
From  her  no  harsh  unartful  numbers  fall. 
She  wears  all  dresses  and  she  charms  in  all. 
How  might  we  fear  our  English  poetry. 
That  long  has  flourished,  should  decay  with  thee, 

699 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Did  not  the  muse's  other  hope  appear, 
Harmonious  Congreve,  and  forbid  our  fear. 
Congreve!  whose  fancy's  unexhausted  store 
Has  given  already  much,  and  promised  more. 
Congreve  shall  still  preserve  thy  fame  alive, 
And  Dryden's  muse  shall  in  his  friend  survive. 

I'm  tired  with  rhyming,  and  would  fain  give  o'er, 
But  justice  still  demands  one  labour  more: 
The  noble  Montagu  remains  unnamed, 
For  wit,  for  humour,  and  for  judgment  famed* 
To  Dorset  he  directs  his  artful  muse. 
In  numbers  such  as  Dorset's  self  might  use. 
How  negligently  graceful  he  unreins 
His  verse,  and  writes  in  loose  familiar  strains; 
How  Nassau's  godlike  acts  adorns  his  lines. 
And  all  the  hero  in  full  glory  shines. 
We  see  his  army  set  in  just  array. 
And  Boyne's  dyed  waves  run  purple  to  the  sea. 
Nor  Simois  choked  with  men,  and  arms,  and  blood; 
Nor  rapid  Xanthus'  celebrated  flood, 
Shrdl  longer  be  the  poet's  highest  themes. 
Though  gods  and  heroes  fought  promiscuous  in  their  streams 
But  now,  to  Nassau's  secret  councils  raised, 
He  aids  the  hero  whom  before  he  praised. 

I've  done  at  length:  and  now,  dear  friend,  receive 
The  last  poor  present  that  my  muse  can  give. 
I  leave  the  arts  of  poetry  and  verse 
To  them  that  practise  'em  with  more  success. 
Of  greater  truths  I'll  now  prepare  to  tell. 
And  so  at  once,  dear  friend  and  muse,  farewell. 

/.  Addison 


700 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

97.  Mr.  Pope's  JVelcome  From   Greece 

T    ONG  hast  thou,  friend,  been  absent  from  thy  soil, 
-*— '     Like  patient  Ithacus  at  siege  of  Troy; 
I  have  been  witness  of  thy  six  years'  toil, 

Thy  daily  labours  and  thy  night's  annoy, 
Lost  to  thy  native  land  with  great  turmoil. 

On  the  wide  sea,  oft  threatening  to  destroy: 
Methinks  with  thee  I've  trod  Sigaean  ground, 
And  heard  the  shores  of  Hellespont  resound. 


Did  I  not  thee  see  when  thou  first  sett'st  sail 
To  seek  adventures  fair  in  Homer's  land  ? 

Did  I  not  see  thy  sinking  spirits  tail 

And  wish  thy  bark  had  never  left  the  strand  ? 

Even  in  mid  ocean  often  didst  thou  quail 
And  oft  lift  up  thy  holy  eye  and  hand. 

Praying  the  virgin  dear  and  saintly  choir. 

Back  to  the  port  to  bring  thy  bark  entire. 


Cheer  up,  my  friend,  thy  dangers  now  are  o'er; 

Methinks — nay,  sure  the  rising  coasts  appear; 
Hark  how  the  guns  salute  from  either  shore 

As  thy  trim  vessel  cuts  the  Thames  so  fair: 
Shouts  answering  shouts  from  Kent  and  Essex  roar, 

And  bells  break  loud  from  ev'ry  gust  of  air: 
Bonfires  do  blaze,  and  bones  and  cleavers  ring, 
As  at  the  coming  of  some  mighty  king. 

701 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Now  pass  we  Gravesend  with  a  friendly  wind, 
And  Tilbury's  white  fort,  and  long  Blackwall; 

Greenwich  where  dwells  the  friend  of  human  kind, 
More  visited  than  either  park  or  hall. 

Withers  the  good,  and(with  him  ever  join'd) 
Facetious  Disney  greet  thee  first  of  all: 

I  see  his  chimney  smoke,  and  hear  him  say: 

'Duke!  that's  the  room  for  Pope,  and  that  for  Gay.' 

'Come  in,  my  friends,  here  shall  ye  dine  and  lie, 
And  here  shall  breakfast  and  here  dine  again. 

And  sup  and  breakfast  on  (if  ye  comply) 

For  I  have  still  some  dozens  of  champagne:' 

His  voice  still  lessens  as  the  ship  sails  by; 
He  waves  his  hand  to  bring  us  back  in  vain; 

For  now  I  see,  I  see  proud  London's  spires; 

Greenwich  is  lost,  and  Depttord  Dock  retires: 

Oh,  what  a  concourse  swarms  on  yonder  quay! 

The  sky  re-echoes  with  new  shouts  of  joy! 
By  all  this  show,  I  ween,  'tis  Lord  Mayor's  Day; 

I  hear  the  voice  of  trumpet  and  hautboy. 
No,  now  I  see  them  near — oh,  these  are  they 

Who  come  in  crowds  to  welcome  thee  from  Troy. 
Hail  to  the  bard  whom  long  as  lost  we  mourn'd. 
From  siege,  from  battle,  and  from  storm  return'd. 

Of  goodly  dames  and  courteous  knights  I  view 
The  silken  petticoat  and  broider'd  vest; 

Yea,  peers  and  mighty  dukes,  with  ribbands  blue 
(True  blue,  fair  emblem  of  unstained  breast). 
702 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Others  I  see  as  noble  and  more  true, 

By  no  court  badge  distinguish'd  from  the  rest: 
First  see  I  Methuen  of  sincerest  mind, 
As  Arthur  grave,  as  soft  as  womankind. 

What  lady's  that  to  whom  he  gently  bends  ? 

Who  knows  not  her  ?     Ah,  those  are  Wortley's  eyes. 
How  art  thou  honour'd,  number'd  with  her  friends; 

For  she  distinguishes  the  good  and  wise. 
The  sweet-tongued  Murray  near  her  side  attends: 

Now  to  my  heart  the  glance  of  Howard  flies; 
Now  Hervey,  fair  of  face,  I  mark  full  well 
With  thee,  youth's  youngest  daughter,  sweet  Lepell. 

I  see  two  lovely  sisters  hand  in  hand, 

The  fair-hair'd  Martha  and  Teresa  brown; 

Madge  Belleden,  the  tallest  of  the  land; 
And  smiling  Mary  soft  and  fair  as  down. 

Yonder  I  see  the  cheerful  Duchess  stand, 

For  friendship,  zeal,  and  blithesome  humours  known; 

Whence  that  loud  shout  in  such  a  hearty  strain  .'' 

Why,  all  the  Hamiltons  are  in  her  train. 

See  next  the  decent  Scudamore  advance 

With  Winchilsea,  still  meditating  song. 
With  her  perhaps  Miss  Howe  came  there  by  chance. 

Nor  knows  with  whom,  nor  why  she  comes  along. 
Far  off  from  these  see  Santlow  famed  for  dance, 

And  frolic  Bicknell,  and  her  sister  young. 
With  other  names  by  me  not  to  be  named, 
Much  loved  in  private,  not  in  public  famed. 

703 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  now  behold  the  female  band  retire, 

And  the  shrill  music  of  their  voice  is  still'd! 

Methinks  I  see  famed  Buckingham  admire. 
That  in  Troy's  ruins  thou  hast  not  been  kill'd. 

Sheffield  who  knows  to  strike  the  living  lyre 
With  hand  judicious  like  thy  Homer  skill'd: 

Bathurst  impetuous,  hastens  to  the  coast, 

Whom  you  and  I  strive  who  shall  love  the  most. 

See  generous  Burlington  with  goodly  Bruce 
(But  Bruce  comes  wafted  in  a  soft  Sedan), 

Dan  Prior  next,  beloved  by  every  muse. 
And  friendly  Congreve,  unreproachful  man! 

Oxford  by  Cunningham  hath  sent  excuse), 
See  hearty  Watkins  come  with  cup  and  can; 

And  Lewis  who  has  never  friend  forsaken; 

And  Laughton  whispering  asks — Is  Iroy  Town  taken  ? 

Earl  Warwick  comes,  of  free  and  honest  mind. 

Bold,  generous  Craggs  whose  heart  was  ne'er  disguised, 

Ah,  why,  sweet  St.  John  cannot  I  thee  find  ? 
St.  John  for  every  social  virtue  prized — 

Alas!  to  foreign  climates  he's  confined. 
Or  else  to  see  thee  here  I  well  surmised; 

Thou  too,  my  Swift,  dost  breathe  Boeotian  air, 

When  wilt  thou  bring  back  wit  and  humour  here  ? 

Harcourt  I  see  for  eloquence  renown'd, 

The  mouth  of  justice,  oracle  of  law! 
Another  Simon  is  beside  him  found, 

Another  Simon  like  as  straw  to  straw. 
704 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

How  Lansdown  smiles  with  lasting  laurel  crown'd! 

What  mitred  prelate  there  commands  our  awe  ? 
See  Rochester  approving  nods  the  head, 
And  ranks  one  modern  with  the  mighty  dead. 

Carlton  and  Chandos  thy  arrival  grace; 

Hanmer  whose  eloquence  the  unbias'd  sways; 
Harley,  whose  goodness  opens  in  his  face 

And  shows  his  heart  the  seat  where  virtue  stays. 
Ned  Blount  advances  next  with  hasty  pace, 

In  haste,  yet  sauntering,  hearty  in  his  ways. 
I  see  the  friendly  Carylls  come  by  dozens. 
Their  wives,  their  uncles,  daughters,  sons,  and  cousins. 

Arbuthnot  there  I  see,  in  physic's  art. 
As  Galen  learned  or  famed  Hippocrate; 

Whose  company  drives  sorrow  from  the  heart 
As  all  disease  his  med'cines  dissipate: 

Kneller  amid  the  triumph  bears  his  part 
Who  could  (were  mankind  lost)  anew  create; 

What  can  th'  extent  of  his  vast  soul  confine  ? 

A  painter,  critic,  engineer,  divine! 

Thee  Jervas  hails,  robust  and  debonair, 

'Now  have  we  conquer'd  Homer,  friends!'  he  cries; 
Dartneuf,  gay  joker,  joyous  Ford  is  there. 

And  wondering  Maine  so  fat,  with  laughing  eyes, 
(Gay,  Maine,  and  Cheney,  boon  companions  dear. 

Gay  fat,  Maine  fatter,  Cheney  huge  of  size), 
Yea,  Dennis,  Gildon  (hearing  thou  hast  riches)  ? 
And  honest  hatless  Cromwell  with  red  breeches. 

705 


THE  BOOK  OF 

O,  Wantley,  whence  com'st  thou  with  shorten'd  hair, 
And  visage  from  thy  shelves  with   dust   besprent  ? 

'Forsooth  (quoth  he)  from  placing  Homer  there, 
As  ancients  to  compyle  is  mine  intent; 

Of  ancients  only  hath  Lord  Harley  care, 
But  hither  me  hath  my  meeke  lady  sent: — 

In  manuscript  of  Greek  rede  we  thilke  same, 

But  book  reprint  best  plesyth  my  gude  dame.' 

Yonder  I  see  among  the  expecting  crowd, 
Evans  with  laugh  jocose  and  Tragic  Young; 

High  buskin'd  Booth,  grave  Mawbert,  wandering  Frowde 
And  Titcombe's  belly  waddles  slow  along. 

See  Digby  faints  at  Southern  talking  loud. 
Yea,  Steele  and  Tickell  mingle  in  the  throng, 

Tickell,  whose  skiff  (in  partnership  they  say) 

Set  forth  for  Greece,  but  founder'd  on  the  way. 

Lo,  the  two  Doncastles  in  Berkshire  known! 

Lo,  Bickford,  Fortescue  of  Devon  land! 
Lo,  Tooker,  Echershall,  Sykes,  Rawlinson! 

See  hearty  Morley  take  thee  by  the  hand! 
Ayers,  Graham,  Buckridge,  joy  thy  voyage  done; 

But  who  can  count  the  leaves,  the  stars,  the  sand  ? 
Lo,  Stoner,  Fenton,  Caldwell,  Ward,  and  Broome; 
Lo,  thousands  more,  but  I  want  rhyme  and  room! 

How  loved,  how  honour'd  thou!     Yet  be  not  vain! 

And  sure  thou  art  not,  for  I  hear  thee  say — 
'All  this,  my  friends,  I  owe  to  Homer's  strain, 

On  whose  strong  pinions  I  exalt  my  lay. 
706 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

What  from  contending  cities  did  he  gain  ? 

And  what  rewards  his  grateful  country  pay  ? 
None,  none  were  paid — why  then  all  this  for  me  ? 
These  honours,  Homer,  had  been  just  to  thee.' 

/•  Gay 


^gS.  To  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller 

On  His  Picture  of  the  King 

T/'NELLER,  with  silence  and  surprise 
-*-  *-     We  see  Britannia's  monarch  rise, 
A  godlike  form,  by  thee  displayed 
In  all  the  force  of  light  and  shade; 
And,  awed  by  thy  delusive  hand. 
As  in  the  presence-chamber  stand. 

The  magic  of  thy  art  calls  forth 
His  secret  soul  and  hidden  worth. 
His  probity  and  mildness  shows, 
His  care  of  friends  and  scorn  of  foes: 
In  every  stroke,  in  every  line, 
Does  some  exalted  virtue  shine, 
And  Albion's  happiness  we  trace 
Through  all  the  features  of  his  face. 

O  may  I  live  to  hail  the  day, 
When  the  glad  nation  shall  survey 
Their  sovereign,  through  his  wide  command, 
Passing  in  progress  o'er  the  land! 
Each  heart  shall  bend,  and  every  voice 
In  loud  applauding  shouts  rejoice. 
Whilst  all  his  gracious  aspect  praise. 
And  crowds  grow  loyal  as  they  gaze. 

707 


THE  BOOK  OF 

This  image  on  the  medal  placed, 
With  its  bright  round  of  titles  graced, 
And  stampt  on  British  coins  shall  live, 
To  richest  ores  the  value  give, 
Or,  wrought  within  the  curious  mould, 
Shape  and  adorn  the  running  gold. 
To  bear  this  form,  the  genial  sun 
Has  daily,  since  his  course  begun, 
Rejoiced  the  metal  to  refine, 
And  ripened  the  Peruvian  mine. 

Thou,  Kneller,  long  with  noble  pride, 
The  foremost  of  thy  art,  has  vied 
With  nature,  in  a  generous  strife. 
And  touched  the  canvass  into  life. 
Thy  pencil  has,  by  monarchs  sought. 
From  reign  to  reign  in  ermine  wrought. 
And,  in  their  robes  of  state  arrayed. 
The  kings  of  half  an  age  displayed. 

Here  swarthy  Charles  appears,  and  there 
His  brother  with  dejected  air: 
Triumphant  Nassau  here  we  find, 
And  with  him  bright  Maria  joined; 
There  Anna,  great  as  when  she  sent 
Her  armies  through  the  continent. 
Ere  yet  her  hero  was  disgraced: 
O  may  famed  Brunswick  be  the  last, 
(Though  heaven  should  with  my  wish  agree, 
And  last,  preserve  thy  art  in  thee) 
The  last,  the  happiest  British  king. 
Whom  thou  shalt  paint,  or  I  shall  sing! 

Wise  Phidias,  thus  his  skill  to  prove. 
Through  many  a  god  advanced  to  Jove, 
708 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  taught  the  pohshed  rocks  to  shine 
With  airs  and  Hneaments  divine; 
Till  Greece,  amazed,  and  half  afraid, 
Th'  assembled  deities  surveyed. 

Great  Pan,  who  wont  to  chase  the  fair, 
And  loved  the  spreading  oak,  was  there; 
Old  Saturn  too,  with  upcast  eyes; 
Beheld  his  abdicated  skies; 
And  mighty  Mars,  for  war  renowned, 
In  adamantine  armour  frowned; 
By  him  the  childless  goddess  rose, 
Minerva,  studious  to  compose 
Her  twisted  threads;  the  web  she  strung. 
And  o'er  a  loom  of  marble  hung: 
Thetis,  the  troubled  ocean's  queen, 
Matched  with  a  mortal,  next  was  seen, 
Reclining  on  a  funeral  urn, 
Her  short-lived  darling  son  to  mourn. 
The  last  was  he,  whose  thunder  slew 
The  Titan  race,  a  rebel  crew. 
That  from  a  hundred  hills  allied 
In  impious  leagues  their  king  defied. 

This  wonder  of  the  sculptor's  hand 
Produced,  his  art  was  at  a  stand: 
For  who  would  hope  new  fame  to  raise. 
Or  risk  his  well-established  praise. 
That,  his  high  genius  to  approve, 
Had  drawn  a  george,  or  carved  a  Jove! 

/.  Addison 


709 


THE  BOOK  OF 

^gg.  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arhiithnot 

Being  the 
Prologue  to   the  Satires 

P.  OHUT,  shut  the  door,  good  John!  fatigu'd,  I  said, 

*^     Tie  up  the  knocker,  say  I'm  sick,  I'm  dead. 
The  Dog-star  rages!  nay  'tis  past  a  doubt, 
All  Bedlam,  or  Parnassus,  is  let  out: 
Fire  in  each  eye,  and  papers  in  each  hand, 
They  rave,  recite,  and  madden  round  the  land. 

What  walls  can  guard  me,  or  what  shades  can  hide  ? 
They  pierce  my  thickets,  thro'  my  Grot  they  glide; 
By  land,  by  water,  they  renew  the  charge; 
They  stop  the  chariot,  and  they  board  the  barge. 
No  place  is  sacred,  not  the  Church  is  free; 
Ev'n  Sunday  shines  no  Sabbath-day  to  me; 
Then  from  the  Mint  walks  forth  the  Man  of  rhyme, 
Happy  to  catch  me  just  at  Dinner-time.    . 

Is  there  a  Parson,  much  bemus'd  in  beer, 
A  maudlin  Poetess,  a  rhyming  Peer, 
A  Clerk,  foredoom'd  his  father's  soul  to  cross, 
Who  pens  a  Stanza,  when  he  should  engross? 
Is  there,  who,  lock'd  from  ink  and  paper,  scrawls 
With  desp'ratc  charcoal  round    his  darken'd  walls  ^. 
All  fly  at  Twit'nam,  and  in  humble  strain 
Apply  to  me,  to  keep  them  mad  or  vain. 
Arthur,  whose  giddy  son  neglects  the  Laws, 
Imputes  to  me  and  my  damn'd  works  the  cause: 
Poor  Cornus  sees  his  frantic  wife  elope, 
And  curses  Wit,  and  Poetry,  and  Pope. 

Friend  to  my  life!  (which  did  not  you  prolong, 
The  world  had  wanted  many  an  idle  song) 
710 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

What  Drop  or  Nostrum  can  this  plague  remove  ? 

Or  which  must  end  me,  a  Fool's  wrath  or  love  ? 

A  dire  delemma!  either  way  I'm  sped, 

If  foes,  they  write,  if  friends,  they  read  me  dead. 

Seiz'd  and  tied  down  to  judge,  how  wretched  I! 

Who  can't  be  silent,  and  who  will  not  lie. 

To  laugh,  were  want  of  goodness  and  of  grace, 

And  to  be  grave,  exceeds  all  Pow'r  of  face. 

I  sit  with  sad  civility,  I  read 

With  honest  anguish,  and  an  aching  head; 

And  drop  at  last,  but  in  unwilling  ears, 

This  saving  counsel,  'Keep  your  piece  nine  years.' 

'Nine  years!'  cries  he,  who  high  in  Drury-lane, 
Lull'd  by  soft  Zephyrs  thro'  the  broken  pane, 
Rhymes  ere  he  wakes,  and  prints  before  Tertr^  ends, 
Oblig'd  by  hunger,  and  request  of  friends: 
'The  piece,  you  think,  is  incorrect  ?  why,  take  it, 
I'm  all  submission,  what  you'd  have  it,  make  it.' 

Three  things  another's  modest  wishes  bound. 
My  Friendship,  and  a  Prologue,  and  ten  pound. 

Pitholeon  sends  to  me:     'You  know  his  Grace, 
I  want  his  Patron;  ask  him  for  a  Place.' 
'Pitholeon  libell'd  me,' — 'but  here's  a  letter 
Informs  you.  Sir,  'twas  when  he  knew  no  better. 
Dare  you  refuse  him  1     Curll  invites  to  dine, 
He'll  write  a  Journal  or  he'll  turn  Divine.' 
'Bless  me!  a  packet. — '     'Tis  a  stranger  sues, 
'A  Virgin  Tragedy,  an  Orphan  Muse.' 
If  I  dislike  it,  'Furies,  death  and  rage!' 
If  I  approve,  'Commend  it  to  the  Stage.' 
There  (thank  my  stars)  my  whole  commission  ends, 
The  Play'rs  and  I  are,. luckily  no  friends, 

711 


THE  BOOK  OF 

'Fir'd  that  the  house  reject  him,'     'Sdeath  I'll  print  it, 

'And  shame  the  fools — Your  Int'rest,  Sir,  with  Lintot!' 

'Lintot,  dull  rogue!  will  think  your  price  too  much:' 

'Not,  Sir,  if  you  revise  it,  and  retouch.' 

All  my  demurs  but  double  his  Attacks; 

At  last  he  whispers,  'Do;  and  we  go  snacks.' 

Glad  of  a  quarrel,  straight  I  clap  the  door, 

Sir,  let  me  see  your  works,  and  you  no  more. 

'Tis  sung,  when  Midas'  Ears  began  to  spring, 
(Midas,  a  sacred  person  and  a  king) 
His  very  Minister  who  spied  them  first, 
(Some  say  his  Queen)  was  foc'ed  to  speak,  or  burst. 
And  is  not  mine,  my  friend,  a  sorer  case, 
When  every  coxcomb  perks  them  in  my  face .'' 
A.     Good  friend,  forbear!  you  deal  in  dang'rous  things. 
I'd  never  name  Queens,  Ministers,  or  Kings; 
Keep  close  to  Ears,  and  those  let  asses  prick; 
'Tis  nothing —     P.     Nothing  .?  if  they  bite  and  kick  .? 
Out  with  it  dunciad!  let  the  secret  pass, 
That  secret  to  each  fool,  that  he's  an  Ass: 
The  truth  once  told  (and  wherefore  should  we  lie  ?) 
The  Queen  of  Midas  slept,  and  so  may  I. 

You  think  this  cruel  ?  take  it  for  a  rule. 
No  creature  smarts  so  little  as  a  fool. 
Let  peals  of  laughter  Codrus!  round  thee  break, 
Thou  unconcern'd  canst  hear  the  mighty  crack: 
Pit,  Box,  and  gall'ry  in  convulsions  hurl'd. 
Thou  stand'st  unshook  amidst  a  bursting  world. 
Who  shames  a  Scribbler  ?  break  one  cobweb  thro', 
He  spins  the  slight,  self-pleasing  thread  anew: 
Destroy  his  fib  or  sophistry,  in  vain, 
The  creature's  at  his  dirty  work  again, 
712 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thron'd  in  the  centre  of  his  thin  designs, 

Proud  of  a  vast  extent  of  flimsy  Hnes! 

Whom  have  I  hurt  ?  has  Poet  yet,  or  Peer, 

Lost  the  arch'd  eye-brow,  or  Parnassian  sneer  ? 

And  has  not  Colley  still  his  Lord,  and  whore  ? 

His  butchers  Henley,  his  free-masons  Moore  ? 

Does  not'  one  table  Bavius  still  admit  ? 

Still  to  one  Bishop  Philips  seem  a  wit  ? 

Still  Sappho —     A.     Hold!  for  God's  sake — you'll  offend, 

No  Names! — be  calm! — learn  prudence  of  a  friend! 

I  too  could  write,    and  I  am  twice  as  tall; 

But  foes  like  these —     P.     One  Flatt'rers  worse  than  all. 

Of  all  mad  creatures,  if  the  learn'd  are  right. 

It  is  the  slaver  kills,  and  not  the  bite. 

A  fool  quite  angry  is  quite  innocent: 

Alas!  'tis  ten  times  worse  when  they  repent. 

One  dedicates  in  high  heroic  prose. 
And  redicules  beyond  a  hundred  foes: 
One  from  all  Grubstreet  will  my  fame  defend, 
And  more  abusive,  calls  himself  pny  friend. 
This  prints  my  Letters,  that  expects  a  bribe. 
And  others  roar  cloud,  'Subscribe,  subscribe.' 

There  are,  who  to  my  person  pay  their  court: 
I  cough  like  Horace,  and,  tho'  lean,  am  short, 
Amnion's  great  son  one  shoulder  had  too  high, 
Such  Ovid's  nose,  and  'Sir!  you  have  an  Eye.' — 
Go  on,  obliging  creatures,  make  me  see, 
All  that  disgrac'd  my  Betters,  met  in  me. 
Say  for  my  comfort,  languishing  in  bed, 
'Just  to  immortal  Maro  held  his  head:' 
And  when  I  die,  be  sure  you  let  me  know 
Great  Homer  died  three  thousand  year  ago. 

713 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Why  did  I  write  ?  what  sin  to  me  unknown 
Dipt  me  in  ink,  my  parents',  or  my  own  ? 
As  yet  a  child,  nor  yet  a  fool  to  fame, 
I  lisp'd  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came. 
I  left  no  calling  for  this  idle  trade, 
No  duty  broke,  no  father  disobey'd. 
The  Muse  but  serv'd  to  ease  some  friend,  not  Wife, 
To  help  me  thro'  this  long  disease,  my  Life, 
To  second,  arbuthnot!  thy  Art  and  Care, 
And  teach  the  Being  you  preserv'd,  to  bear. 

But  why  then  publish  ?     Granville  the  polite. 
And  knowing  Walsh,  would  tell  me  I  could  write; 
Well-natur'd  Garth  inflam'd  with  early  praise; 
And  Congreve  lov'd,  and  Sxvift  endured'  my  lays; 
The  courtly  Talbot,  Somers,  Sheffield  read; 
Ev'n  mitred  Rochester  would  nod  the  head. 
And  St.  John's  self  (great  Dr  yd  en's  friend  before) 
With  open  arms  receiv'd  one  Poet  more. 
Happy  my  studies,  when  by  these  approv'd! 
Happier  their  author,  when  by  these  beloved! 
From  these  the  world  will  judge  of  men  and  books, 
Not  from  the  Burnets,  Ohlrnixons,  and  Crookes. 

Soft  were  my  numbers;  who  could  take  offence, 
While  pure  Description  held  the  place  of  Sense .'' 
Like  gentle  Fanny's  was  my  flow'ry  theme, 
A  painted  mistress,  or  a  purling  stream. 
Yet  then  did  Gildon  draw  his  venal  quill; — 
I  wish'd  the  man  a  dinner,  and  sat  still. 
Yet  then  did  Dennis  rave  in  furious  fret; 
I  never  answer'd, — I  was  not  in  debl. 
If  want  provok'd,  or  madness  made  them  print, 
I  wag'd  no  war  with  Bedlam  or  the  Mint. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Did  some  more  sober  Critic  come  abroad; 
If  wrong,  I  smil'd;  if  right,  I  kiss'd  the  rod. 
Pains,  reading,  study,  are  their  just  pretence. 
And  all  they  want  is  spirit,  taste,  and  sense. 
Commas  and  points  they  set  exactly  right, 
And  'twere  a  sin  to  rob  them  of  their  mite. 
Yet  ne'er  one  sprig  of  laurel  grac'd  these  ribalds, 
From  slashing  Bentley  down  to  pidling  Tihalds'- 
Each  wight,  who  reads  not,  and  but  scans  and  spells, 
Each  Word-catcher,  that  lives  on  syllables, 
Ev'n  such  small  Critics  some  regard  may  claim, 
Preserv'd  in  Milton  s  or  in  Shakespeare's  name. 
Pretty!  in  amber  to  observe  the  forms 
Of  hairs,  or  straws,  or  dirt,  or  grubs,  or  worms! 
The  things,  we  know,  are  neither  rich  nor  rare. 
But  wonder  how  the  devil  they  got  there. 

Were  others  angry:     I  excus'd  them  too; 
Well  might  they  rage,  I  gave  them  but  their  due. 
A  man's  true  merit  'tis  not  hard  to  find; 
But  each  man's  secret  standard  in  his  mind. 
That  Casting-weight  pride  adds  to  emptiness, 
This,  who  can  gratify  .^  for  who  can  guess  .? 
The  Bard  whom  pilfer'd  Pastorals  renown. 
Who  turns  a  Persian  tale  for  half  a  Crown, 
Just  writes  to  make  his  barrenness  appear. 
And  strains,  from  hard-bound  brains,  eight  lines  a  year; 
He,  who  still  wanting,  tho'  he  lives  on  theft, 
Steals  much,  spends  little,  yet  has  nothing  left: 
And  He,  who  now  to  sense,  now  nonsense  leaning, 
Means  not,  but  blunders  round  about  a  meaning: 
And  He,  whose  fustian's  so  sublimely  bad, 
It  is  not  Poetry,  but  prose  run  mad: 


THE  BOOK  OF 

All  these,  my  modest  Satire  bade  translate. 
And  own'd  that  nine  such  Poets  made  a  Tate. 
How  did  they  fume,  and  stamp,  and  roar,  and  chafe! 
And  swear,  not  ADDISON  himself  was  safe. 

Peace  to  all  such!  but  were  there  One  whose  fires 
True  Genius  kindles,  and  fair  Fame  inspires; 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  ease: 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne. 
View  him  with  scornful,  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caus'd  himself  to  rise; 
Dam.n  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer. 
And  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike. 
Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike; 
Alike  reserv'd  to  blame,  or  to  commend, 
A  tim'rous  foe,  and  a  suspicious  friend; 
Dreading  ev'n  fools,  by  Flatterers  beseig'd, 
And  so  obliging,  that  he  ne'er  oblig'd; 
Like  Caio,  give  his  little  Senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause; 
While  Wits  and  Templars  ev'ry  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise: — 
Who  but  must  laugh,  if  such  a  man  there  be .'' 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  ATTicus  were  he  } 

What  tho'  my  Name  stood  rubic  on  the  walls, 
Or  plaister'd  posts,  with  claps,  in  capitals  .? 
Or  smoking  forth,  a  hundred  hawkers'  load. 
On  wings  of  winds  came  flying  all  abroad  } 
I  souglit  no  homage  from  the  Race  that  write: 
I  kept,  like  Asian  Monarchs,  from  their  sight: 
716 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Poems  I  heeded  (now  be-rhym'd  so  long) 

No  more  than  thou,  great  GEORGE !  a  birth-day  song. 

I  ne'er  with  wits  or  witlings  pass'd  my  days, 

To  spread  about  the  itch  of  verse  and  praise; 

Nor  like  a  puppy,  daggled  thro'  the  town. 

To  fetch  and  carry  sing-song  up  and  down; 

Nor  at  Rehearsals  sweat,  and  mouth'd,  and  cried, 

With  handkerchief  and  orange  at  my  side; 

But  sick  of  fops,  and  poetry,  and  prate, 

To  Bufo  left  the  whole  Cast  alt  an  state. 

Proud  as  Apollo  on  his  forked  hill. 
Sat  full-blown  Bufo  pufF'd  by  ev'ry  quill; 
Fed  with  soft  Dedication  all  day  long, 
Horace  and  he  went  hand  in  hand  in  song. 
His  Library  (where  busts  of  Poets  dead 
And  a  true  Pindar  stood  without  a  head,) 
Receiv'd  of  wits  an  undistinguish'd  race, 
\\  ho  first  his  judgment  ask'd,  and  then  a  place: 
Much  they  extoll'd  his  pictures,  much  his  seat. 
And  flatter'd  ev'ry  day,  and  some  days  eat: 
Till  grown  more  frugal  in  his  riper  days, 
He  paid  some  bards  with  port,  and  some  with  praise; 
To  some  a  dry  rehearsal  was  assign'd. 
And  others  (harder  still)  he  paid  in  kind. 
Dryden  alone  (what  wonder  ?)  came  not  nigh, 
Dryden  alone  escaped'  this  judging  eye: 
But  still  the  Great  have  kindness  in  reserve. 
He  helped  to  bury  whom  he  help'd  to  starve. 

May  some  choice  patron  bless  each  gray  goose  quill! 
May  ev'ry  Bavius  have  his  Bufo  still! 
So,  when  a  Stateman  want  a  day's  defence. 
Or  Envy  holds  a  whole  week's  war  with  Sense, 

717 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Or  simple  pride  for  flatt'ry  makes  demands, 
May  dunce  by  dunce  be  whistled  off  my  hands! 
Blest  be  the  Great!  for  those  they  take  away, 
And  those  they  left  me;  for  they  left  me  Gay; 
Left  me  to  see  neglected  Genius  bloom, 
Neglected  die,  and  tell  it  on  his  tomb: 
Of  all  thy  blameless  Ufe  the  sole  return 
My  Verse,  and  Queensbury  weeping  o'er  thy  urn! 

Oh  let  me  live  my  own,  and  die  so  too! 
(To  live  and  die  is  all  I  have  to  do:) 
Maintain  a  Poet's  dignity  and  ease. 
And  see  what  friends,  and  read  what  books  I  please; 
Above  a  Patron,  tho'  I  condescend 
Sometimes  to  call  a  minister  my  friend. 
I  was  not  born  for  Courts  or  great  affairs; 
I  pay  my  debts,  believe,  and  say  my  pray'rs; 
Can  sleep  without  a  Poem  in  my  head; 
Nor  know,  if  Dennis,  be  alive  or  dead. 

Why  am  I  ask'd  what  next  shall  see  the  light .'' 
Heav'ns!  was  I  born  for  nothing  but  to  write.? 
Has  Life  no  joys  for  me  '^.  or,  (to  be  grave) 
Have  I  no  friend  to  serve,  no  soul  to  save  ? 
'I  found  him  close  with  Swift' — 'Indeed.''    no    doubt,' 
(Cries  prating  Balhus)  'something  will  come  out.' 
*Tis  all  in  vain,  deny  it  as  I  will.' 
*No,  such  a  Genius  never  can  lie  still;' 
And  then  for  mine  obligingly  mistakes 
The  first  Lampoon  Sir  ffill.  or  Bubo  makes. 
Poor  guiltless  I!  and  can  I  choose  but  smile. 
When  ev'ry  coxcomb  knows  me  by  my  Style? 

Curst  be  the  verse,  how  well  soe'er  it  flow, 
That  tends  to  make  one  worthy  man  my  foe, 
718 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Give  Virtue  scandal,  Innocence  a  fear, 
Or  from  the  soft-eyed  Virgin  steal  a  tear! 
But  he  who  hurts  a  harmless  neighbour's  peace. 
Insults  fall'n  worth,  or  Beauty  in  distress. 
Who  loves  a  Lie,  lame  slander  helps  about. 
Who  writes  a  Libel,  or  who  copies  out: 
That  Fop,  whose  pride  affects  a  patron's  name. 
Yet  absent,  wounds  an  author's  honest  fame: 
Who  can  your  merit  selfishly  approve. 
And  show  the  sense  of  it  without  the  love; 
Who  has  the  vanity  to  call  you  friend. 
Yet  wants  the  honour,  injur'd,  to  defend; 
Who  tells  whate'er  you  think,  whate'er  you  say, 
And,  if  he  lie  not,  must  at  least  betray: 
Who  to  the  Dean,  and  stiver  bell  can  swear. 
And  sees  at  Canons  what  was  never  there: 
Who  reads,  but  with  a  lust  to  misapply. 
Make  Satire  a  Lampoon,  and  Fiction,  Lie. 
A  lash  like  mine  no  honest  man  shall  dread, 
But  all  such  babbling  blockheads  in  his  stead. 

Let  Sporus  tremble —     J.     What  I  that  thing  of  silk, 
Sporiis,  that  mere  white  curd  of  Ass's  milk  t 
Satire  or  sense,  alas!  can  Sporus  feel  .'' 
Who  breaks  a  butterfly  upon  a  wheel  ^. 
P.     Yet  let  me  flap  this  bug  with  gilded  wings. 
This  painted  child  of  dirt,  that  stinks  and  stings; 
Whose  buzz  the  witty  and  the  fair  annoys, 
Yet  wit  ne'er  tastes,  and  beauty  ne'er  enjoys; 
So  well-bred  spaniels  civilly  delight 
In  mumbling  of  the  game  they  dare  not  bite. 
Eternal  smiles  his  emptiness  betray, 
As  shallow  streams  run  dimpling  all  the  way. 

719 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Whether  in  florid  impotence  he  speaks, 

And,  as  the  prompter  breathes,  the  puppet  squeaks; 

Or  at  the  ear  of  Eve,  famiHar  Toad, 

Half  froth,  half  venom,  spits  himself  abroad, 

In  puns,  or  politics,  or  tales,  or  lies. 

Or  spite,  or  smut,  or  rhymes,  or  blasphemies. 

His  wit  all  see-saw,  between  that  and  this. 

Now  high,  now  low,  now  master  up,  now  miss. 

And  he  himself  one  vile  Antithesis. 

Amphibious  thing!  that  acting  either  part, 

The  trifling  head  or  the  corrupted  heart. 

Fop  at  the  toilet,  flatt'rer  at  the  board. 

Now  trips  a  Lady,  and  now  struts  a  Lord. 

Eve's  tempter  thus  the  Rabbins  have  exprest, 

A  Cherub's  face,  a  reptile  all  the  rest; 

Beauty  that  shocks  you,  parts  that  none  will  trust; 

Wit  that  can  creep,  and  pride  that  licks  the  dust. 

Not  Fortune's  worshipper,  nor  fashion's  fool, 
Not  Lucre's  madman,  nor  Ambition's  tool. 
Not  proud,  nor  servile; — be  one  Poet's  praise, 
That,  if  he  pleas'd,  he  pleas'd  by  manly  ways: 
That  Flatt'ry,  ev'n  to  Kings,  he  held  a  shame. 
And  thought  a  Lie  in  verse  or  prose  the  same. 
That  not  in  Fancy's  maze  he  wander'd  long, 
But  stoop'd  to  Truth,  and  mortaliz'd  his  song; 
That  not  for  Fame,  but  Virtue's  better  end, 
He  stood  the  furious  foe,  the  timid  friend. 
The  damning  critic,  half  approving  wit. 
The  coxcomb  hit,  or  tearing  to  be  hit; 
Laugh' d  at  the  loss  of  friends  he  never  had. 
The  dull,  the  proud,  the  wicked,  and  the  mad; 
The  distant  threats  of  vengeance  on  his  head, 
720 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

The  blow  untelt,  the  tear  he  never  shed; 
The  tale  reviv'd,  the  lie  so  oft  o'erthiown, 
Th'  imputed  trash,  and  dulness  not  his  own; 
The  morals  blacken'd  when  the  writings  scape, 
The  libell'd  person,  and  the  pictur'd  shape; 
Abuse,  on  all  he  lov'd,  or  lov'd  him,  spread, 
A  friend  in  exile,  or  a  father,  dead; 
The  whisper,  that  to  greatness  still  too  near. 
Perhaps,  yet  vibrates  on  his  sov'reign's  ear: — 
Welcome  for  thee,  fair  Virtue!  all  the  past; 
For  thee.  Fair  Virtue!  welcome  ev'n  the  I'^st! 

A.     But  why  insult  the  poor,  affront  the  great  ? 
P.     A  knave's  a  knave,  to  me,  in  ev'ry  state: 
Alike  my  scorn,  if  he  succeed  or  fail, 
Sporus  at  court,  or  Japliet  in  a  jail, 
A  hireling  scribbler,  or  a  hireling  peer, 
Knight  of  the  post  corrupt,  or  of  the  shire; 
If  on  a  Pillory,  or  near  a  Throne, 
He  gain  his  Prince's  ear,  or  lose  his  own. 

Yet  soft  by  nature,  more  a  dupe  than  wit, 
Sappho  can  tell  you  how  this  man  was  bit; 
This  dreaded  Sat'rist  Dennis  will  confess 
Foe  to  his  pride,  but  friend  to  his  distress: 
So  humble,  he  has  knock'd  at  TtbhaWs  door. 
Has  drunk  with  Cibbcr,  nay  has  rhym'd  for  Moore. 
Full  ten  years  slander'd,  did  he  once  reply  ? 
Three  thousand  suns  went  down  on  Wehted's  lie. 
To  please  a  Mistress  one  aspers'd  his  life; 
He  lash'd  him  not,  but  let  her  be  his  wife. 
Let  Budgel  charge  low  Grubstreet  on  his  quill. 
And  write  whate'er  he  pleas'd,  except  his  Will; 
Let  the  two  Curlls  of  Town  and  Court,  abuse 

721 


THE  BOOK  OF 

His  father,  mother,  body,  soul,  and  muse. 

Yet  why,  ?  that  Father  held  it  for  a  rule, 

It  was  a  sin  to  call  our  neighbour  fool: 

That  harmless  Mother  thought  no  wife  a  whore: 

Hear  this,  and  spare  his  family,  James  Moore! 

Unspotted  names,  and  memorable  long! 

If  there  be  force  in  Virtue,  or  in  Song. 

Of  gentle  blood  (part  shed  in  Honour's  cause, 
While  yet  in  Britain  Honour  had  applause) 
Each  parent  sprung —  A.  What  fortune  pray  .? —  P.  Their 

own, 
And  better  got,  than  Bertta's  from  the  throne. 
Born  to  no  Pride,  inheriting  no  Strife, 
Nor  marrying  Discord  in  a  noble  wife, 
Stranger  to  civil  and  religious  rage. 
The  good  man  walk'd  innoxious  thro'  his  age. 
Nor  Courts  he  saw,  no  suits  would  ever  try. 
Nor  dar'd  an  Oath,  nor  hazarded  a  Lie. 
Unlearn'd,  he  knew  no  schoolman's  subtle  art, 
No  language,  but  the  language  of  the  heart. 
By  Nature  honest,  by  Experience  wise, 
Healthy  by  temp'rance,  and  by  exercise; 
His  life,  tho'  long,  to  sickness  past  unknown. 
His  death  was  instant,  and  without  a  groan. 
O  grant  me,  thus  to  live,  and  thus  to  die! 
Who  sprung  from  Kings  shall  know  less  joy  than  I. 

O  Friend!  may  each  domestic  bliss  be  thine! 
Be  no  unpleasing  Melancholy  mine: 
Me,  let  the  tender  office  long  engage, 
To  rock  the  cradle  of  reposing  Age, 
With  lenient  arts  extend  a  Mother's  breath, 
Make  Languor  smile,  and  smooth  the  bed  of  Death, 
722 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Explore  the  thought,  explain  the  asking  eye, 

And  keep  a  while  one  parent  from  the  sky! 

On  cares  like  these  if  length  of  days  attend. 

May  Heav'n,  to  bless  those  days,  preserve  my  friend, 

Preserve  him  social,  cheerful,  and  serene, 

And  just  as  rich  as  when  he  serv'd  a  queen. 

A.  Whether  that  blessing  be  deny'd  or  giv'n, 

Thus  far  was  right,  the  rest  belongs  to  Heav'n. 

A.  Pope 


400.  An  Epigram 

/"^OD  bless  the  King!  I  mean  the  Faith's  Defender; 
^-^      God  bless  (no  harm  in  blessing)  the  Pretender; 
But  who  Pretender  is,  or  who  is  King — 
God  bless  us  all! — that's  quite  another  thing. 

] .  Byrom 


401.         On   the  Death   of  Dr.  Swift 

A   S  Rochefoucault  his  maxims  drew 
■^   *-      From  nature,  I  believe  them  true; 
They  argue  no  corrupted  mind 
In  him;  the  fault  is  in  mankind. 

This  maxim  more  than  all  the  rest 
Is  thought  too  base  for  human  breast: 
'In  all  distresses  ot  our  iriends. 
We  first  consult  our  private  ends; 
While  nature,  kindly  bent  to  ease  us. 
Points  out  some  circumstance  to  please  us.' 

7^3 


THE  BOOK  OF 

If  this  perhaps  your  patience  move, 
Let  reason  and  experience  prove. 
We  all  behold  with  envious  eyes 
Our  equals  raised  above  our  size. 
Who  would  not  at  a  crowded  show 
Stand  high  himself,  keep  others  low .? 
I  love  my  friend  as  well  as  you: 
But  why  should  he  obstruct  my  view  ^ 
Then  let  me  have  the  higher  post: 
Suppose  it  hut  an  inch  at  most. 
If  in  a  battle  you  should  find 
One  whom  you  love  of  all  mankind, 
Had  some  heroic  action  done, 
A  champion  killed,  or  trophy  won; 
Rather  than  thus  be  overtopped 
Would  you  not  wish  his  laurels  cropped  ? 
Dear  honest  Ned  is  in  the  gout. 
Lies  racked  with  pain,  and  you  without: 
How  patiently  you  hear  him  groan! 
How  glad  the  case  is  not  your  own! 

What  poet  would  not  grieve  to  see 
His  brother  write  as  well  as  he  ? 
But  rather  than  they  should  excel, 
Would  wish  his  rivals  all  in  hell .? 

Her  end  when  Emulation  misses. 
She  turns  to  Envy,  stings  and  hisses: 
The  strongest  friendship  yields  to  pride, 
Unless  the  odds  be  on  our  side. 
Vain  human  kind!  fantastic  race! 
Thy  various  follies  who  can  trace  ? 
Self-love,  ambition,  envy,  pride. 
Their  empire  in  our  hearts  divide, 
724 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Give  others  riches,  power,  and  station, 

'Tis  all  on  me  a  usurpation. 

I  have  no  title  to  aspire; 

Yet,  when  you  sink,  I  seem  the  higher. 

In  Pope  I  cannot  read  a  line, 

But  with  a  sigh  I  wish  it  mine; 

When  he  can  in  one  couplet  fix 

More  sense  than  I  can  do  in  six; 

It  gives  me  such  a  jealous  fit, 

I  cry,  *Pox  take  him  and  his  wit!' 

I  grieve  to  be  outdone  by  Gay 

In  my  own  humorous  biting  way. 

Arbuthnot  is  no  more  my  friend. 

Who  dares  to  irony  pretend. 

Which  I  was  born  to  introduce. 

Refined  it  first,  and  showed  its  use. 

St.  John,  as  well  as  Pultney,  knows 

That  I  had  some  repute  tor  prose; 

And,  till  they  drove  me  out  of  date. 

Could  maul  a  minister  of  state. 

If  they  have  mortified  my  pride. 

And  made  me  throw  my  pen  aside: 

If  with  such  talents  Heaven  has  blessed  'em, 

Have  I  not  reason  to  detest  *em  .? 

To  all  my  foes,  dear  Fortune,  send 
Thy  gifts — but  never  to  my  friend; 
I  tamely  can  endure  the  first. 
But  this  with  envy  makes  me  burst. 

Thus  much  may  serve  by  way  of  proem: 
Proceed  we  therefore  to  our  poem. 

The  time  is  not  remote,  when  I 
Must  by  the  course  of  nature  die; 

725 


THE  BOOK  OF 

When,  I  foresee,  my  special  friends 
Will  try  to  find  their  private  ends: 
And,  though  'tis  hardly  understood 
Which  way  my  death  can  do  them  good, 
Yet  thus,  methinks,  I  hear  them  speak: 
'See  how  the  Dean  begins  to  break! 
Poor  gentleman,  he  droops  apace! 
You  plainly  see  it  in  his  face. 
That  old  vertigo  in  his  head 
Will  never  leave  him  till  he's  dead. 
Besides,  his  memory  decays: 
He  recollects  not  what  he  says; 
He  cannot  call  his  friends  to  mind^; 
Forgets  the  place  where  last  he  dined; 
Plies  you  with  stories  o'er  and  o'er; 
He  told  them  fifty  times  before. 
How  does  he  fancy  we  can  sit 
To  hear  his  out-of-fashion  wit  ? 
But  he  takes  up  with  younger  folks. 
Who  for  his  wine  will  bear  his  jokes. 
Faith!  he  must  make  his  stories  shorter, 
Or  change  his  comrades  once  a  quarter: 
In  half  the  time  he  talks  them  round, 
There  must  another  set  be  found. 

*For  poetry  he's  past  his  prime: 
He  takes  an  hour  to  find  a  rhyme; 
His  fire  is  out,  his  wit  decayed, 
His  fancy  sunk,  his  Muse  a  jade. 
I'd  have  him  throw  away  his  pen; — 
But  there's  no  talking  to  some  men!' 

And  then  their  tenderness  appears. 
By  adding  largely  to  my  years; 
726 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'He's  older  than  he  would  be  reckon'd, 

And  well  remembers  Charles  the  Second. 

He  hardly  drinks  a  pint  of  wine; 

And  that,  I  doubt,  is  no  good  sign. 

His  stomach  too  begins  to  fail: 

Last  year  we  thought  him  strong  and  hale; 

But  now  he's  quite  another  thing: 

I  wish  he  may  hold  out  till  Spring.' 

They  hug  themselves,  and  reason  thus: 

'It  is  not  yet  so  bad  with  us!' 

In  such  a  case  they  talk  in  tropes, 
And  by  their  fears  express  their  hopes. 
Some  great  misfortune  to  portend, 
No  enemy  can  match  a  friend. 
With  all  the  kindness  they  profess, 
The  merit  of  a  lucky  guess 
(When  daily  how  d'ye's  come  of  course, 
And  servants  answer,  'Worse  and  worse!') 
Would  please  them  better,  than  to  tell. 
That,  'God  be  praised,  the  Dean  is  well.' 
Then  he,  who  prophesied  the  best. 
Approves  his  foresight  to  the  rest: 
'You  know  I  always  feared  the  worst, 
And  often  told  you  so  at  first.' 
He'd  rather  choose  that  I  should  die, 
Than  his  prediction  prove  a  lie. 
Not  one  foretells  I  shall  recover, 
But  all  agree  to  give  me  over. 

Yet,  should  some  neighbour  feel  a  pain 
Just  in  the  parts  where  I  complain, 
How  many  a  message  would  he  send! 
What  hearty  prayers  that  I  should  mend ! 


727 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Inquire  wliat  regimen  I  kept; 
What  gave  me  ease,  and  how  I  slept? 
And  more  lament  when  I  was  dead, 
Than  all  the  snivellers  round  my  bed. 

My  good  companions,  never  fear: 
For  though  yoii  may  mistake  a  year, 
Though  your  prognostics  run  too  fast, 
They  must  be  verified  at  last. 

Behold  the  fatal  day  arrive! 
'How  is  the  Dean  V — 'He's  just  alive.' 
Now  the  departing  prayer  is  read; 
'He  hardly  breathes.' — 'The  Dean  is  dead.* 

Before  the  passing  bell  begun. 
The  news  through  half  the  town  is  run. 
'O  may  we  all  for  death  prepare! 
What  has  he  left  ?  and  who's  his  heir .?' — 
'I  know  no  more  than  what  the  news  is, 
'Tis  all  bequeathed  to  public  uses.' 
'To  public  uses!  there's  a  whim! 
What  had  the  public  done  for  him  ? 
Mere  envy,  avarice,  and  pride: 
He  gave  it  all — but  first  he  died. 
And  had  the  Dean,  in  all  the  nation, 
No  worthy  friend,  no  poor  relation .? 
So  ready  to  do  strangers  good. 
Forgetting  his  own  flesh  and  blood.' 

Now,  Grub  Street  wits  are  all  employed; 
With  elegies  the  town  is  cloyed: 
Some  paragraph  in  every  paper 
To  curse  the  Dean,  or  bless  the  Drapier. 

The  doctors,  tender  of  their  fame, 
Wisely  on  me  lay  all  the  blame: 
728 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'We  must  confess,  his  case  was  nice — 
But  he  would  never  take  advice. 
Had  he  been  ruled,  for  aught  appears, 
He  might  have  lived  these  twenty  years; 
For,  when  we  opened  him,  we  found. 
That  all  his  vital  parts  were  sound.' 

From  Dublin  soon  to  London  spread, 
'Tis  told  at  court,  'The  Dean  is  dead.* 
And  Lady  Suffolk,  in  the  spleen, 
Runs  laughing  up  to  tell  the  Queen. 
The  Queen,  so  gracious,  mild,  and  good. 
Cries,  'Is  he  gone!  'tis  time  he  should. 
He's  dead,  you  say;  then  let  him  rot, 
I'm  glad  the  medals  were  forgot. 
I  promised  him,  I  own — but  when  ? 
I  only  was  the  Princess  then; 
But  now,  as  consort  of  the  King, 
You  know,  'tis  quite  another  thing.' 
Now  Chartres,  at  Sir  Robert's  levee, 
Tells  with  a  sneer  the  tidings  heavy: 
'Why,  if  he  died  without  his  shoes,' 
Cries  Bob,  'I'm  sorry  for  the  news. 
O  were  the  wretch  but  living  still. 
And  in  his  place  my  good  friend  Will! 
Or  had  a  mitre  on  his  head. 
Provided  Bolingbroke  were  dead!' 
Now  Curll  his  shop  from  rubbish  drains: 
Three  genuine  tomes  of  Swift's  remains! 
And  then  to  make  them  pass  the  glibber, 
Revised  by  Tibbalds,  Moore,  and  Cibber. 
He'll  treat  me  as  he  does  my  betters. 
Publish  my  will,  my  life,  my  letters; 


729 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Revive  the  libels  born  to  die, 
Which  Pope  must  bear,  as  well  as  I. 

Here  shift  the  scene,  to  represent 
How  those  I  love  my  death  lament. 
Poor  Pope  would  grieve  a  month,  and  Gay 
A  week,  and  Arbuthnot  a  day. 

St.  John  himself  will  scarce  forbear 
To  bite  his  pen,  and  drop  a  tear. 
The  rest  will  give  a  shrug,  and  cry, 
'I'm  sorry — but  we  all  must  die.' 

Indifference,  clad  in  Wisdom's  guise. 
All  fortitude  of  mind  supplies: 
For  how  can  stony  bowels  melt 
In  those  who  never  pity  felt! 
When  we  are  lash'd,  they  kiss  the  rod, 
Resigning  to  the  will  of  God. 

The  fools,  my  juniors  by  a  year. 
Are  tortured  with  suspense  and  fear; 
Who  wisely  thought  my  age  a  screen. 
When  death  approached,  to  stand  between: 
The  screen  removed,  their  hearts  are  trembling- 
They  mourn  for  me  without  dissembling. 

My  female  friends,  whose  tender  hearts 
Have  better  learned  to  act  their  parts. 
Receive  the  news  in  doleful  dumps. 
'The  Dean  is  dead:  (Pray  what  is  trumps.?) 
Then,  Lord  have  mercy  on  his  soul. 
(Ladies,  I'll  venture  for  the  vole.) 
Six  deans,  they  say,  must  bear  the  pall: 
(I  wish  I  knew  what  king  to  call.) 
Madam,  your  husband  will  attend 
The  funeral  of  so  good  a  friend. 


RESTORAIION  VERSE 

No,  madam,  'tis  a  shocking  sight, 
And  he's  engaged  to-morrow  night. 
My  Lady  Club  will  take  it  ill, 
If  he  should  fail  at  her  quadrille. 
He  loved  the  Dean— (I  lead  a  heart,) 
But  dearest  friends,  they  say,  must  part. 
His  time  was  come:  he  ran  his  race; 
We  hope  he's  in  a  better  place.' 

Why  do  we  grieve  that  friends  should  die .? 
No  loss  more  easy  to  supply. 
One  year  is  past — a  different  scene — 
No  further  mention  of  the  Dean: 
Who  now,  alas!  no  more  is  miss'd. 
Than  if  he  never  did  exist. 
Where's  now  this  favourite  of  Apollo  ? 
Departed — and  his  works  must  follow: 
Must  undergo  the  common  fate; 
His  kind  of  wit  is  out  of  date. 

Some  country  squire  to  Lintot  goes. 
Inquires  for  'Swift  in  Verse  and  Prose.' 
Says  Lintot,  'I  have  heard  the  name; 
He  died  a  year  ago.' — 'The  same.' 
He  searches  all  the  shop  in  vain  ? 
'Sir,  you  may  find  them  in  Duck-lane; 
I  sent  them  with  a  load  of  books. 
Last  Monday  to  the  pastry-cook's. 
To  fancy  they  could  live  a  year! 
I  find  you're  but  a  stranger  here. 
The  Dean  was  famous  in  his  time. 
And  had  a  kind  of  knack  at  rhyme. 
His  way  of  writing  now  is  past; 
The  town  has  got  a  better  taste; 

731 


THE  BOOK  OF 

I  keep  no  antiquated  stuff, 

But  spick  and  span  I  have  enough. 

Pray  do  but  give  me  leave  to  show  'em, 

Here  Colley  Gibber's  birth-day  poem. 

This  ode  you  never  yet  have  seen. 

By  Stephen  Duck,  upon  the  Queen. 

Then  here's  a  letter  finely  penn'd 

Against  the  Craftsman  and  his  friend; 

It  clearly  shows  that  all  reflection 

On  ministers  is  disaffection. 

Next,  here's  Sir  Robert's  vindication. 

And  Mr.  Henley's  last  oration. 

The  hawkers  have  not  got  them  yet — 

Your  honour  please  to  buy  a  set  ? 

Here's  Wolston's  tracts,  the  twelfth  edition, 
'Tis  read  by  every  politician; 
The  country  members,  when  in  town. 
To  all  their  boroughs  send  them  down; 
You  never  met  a  thing  so.  smart; 
The  courtiers  have  them  all  by  heart: 
Those  maids  of  honour  who  can  read. 
Are  taught  to  use  them  for  their  creed. 
The  reverend  author's  good  intention 
Has  been  rewarded  with  a  pension. 
He  does  an  honour  to  his  gown. 
By  bravely  running  priestcraft  down; 
He  shows,  as  sure  as  God's  in  Gloucester, 
That  Moses  was  a  grand  imposter; 
That  all  his  miracles  were  cheats. 
Performed  as  jugglers  do  their  feats; 
The  church  had  never  such  a  writer,    . 
A  shame  he  has  not  got  a  mitre!' 

7Z^ 


RESTORAllON  VERSE 

Suppose  me  dead,  and  then  suppose 
A  club  assembled  at  the  Rose, 
Where,  from  discourse  of  this  and  that, 
I  grow  the  subject  of  their  chat. 
And  while  they  toss  my  name  about, 
With  favour  some,  and  some  without, 
One,  quite  indifferent  in  the  cause. 
My  character  impartial  draws. 

'The  Dean,  if  we  believe  report, 
Was  never  ill-received  at  Court. 
As  for  his  works  in  verse  and  prose, 
I  own  myself  no  judge  of  those; 
Nor  can  I  tell  what  critics  thought  'cm— 
But  this  I  know,  all  people  bought  'em. 
As  with  a  moral  view  design'd 
To  cure  the  vices  of  mankind, 
His  vein,  ironically  grave. 
Exposed  the  fool,  and  lashed  the  knave. 
To  steal  a  hint  was  never  known, 
But  what  he  writ  was  all  his  own. 

He  never  thought  an  honour  done  him 
Because  a  duke  was  proud  to  own  him; 
Would  rather  slip  aside  and  choose 
To  talk  with  wits  in  dirty  shoes; 
Despised  the  fools  with  stars  and  garters, 
So  often  seen  caressing  Chartres. 
He  never  courted  men  in  station, 
Nor  persons  held  in  admiration; 
Of  no  man's  greatness  was  afraid, 
Because  he  sought  for  no  man's  aid. 
Though  trusted  long  in  great  affairs, 
He  gave  himself  no  haughty  airs; 


733 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Without  regarding  private  ends, 
Spent  all  his  credit  for  his  friends; 
And  only  chose  the  wise  and  good — 
No  flatterers:  no  allies  in  blood; 
But  succour'd  virtue  in  distress, 
And  seldom  failed  of  good  success; 
As  numbers  in  their  hearts  must  own. 
Who,  but  for  him,  had  been  unknown. 

With  princes  kept  a  due  decorum, 
But  never  stood  in  awe  before  'em. 
He  followed  David's  lesson  just — 
In  princes  never  put  thy  trust: 
And  would  you  make  him  truly  sour, 
Provoke  him  with  a  slave  in  power. 
The  Irish  senate  if  you  named, 
With  what  impatience  he  declaimed! 
Fair  LIBERTY  was  all  his  cry. 
For  her  he  stood  prepared  to  die; 
For  her  he  boldly  stood  alone; 
For  her  he  oft  exposed  his  own. 
Two  kingdoms,  just  as  faction  led, 
Had  set  a  price  upon  his  head; 
But  not  a  traitor  could  be  found. 
To  sell  him  for  six  hundred  pound. 

'Had  he  but  spared  his  tongue  and  pen, 
He  might  have  rose  like  other  men; 
But  power  was  never  in  his  thought. 
And  wealth  he  valued  not  a  groat; 
Ingratitude  he  often  found, 
And  pitied  those  who  meant  the  wound; 
But  kept  the  t-eiior  of  his  mind. 
To  merit  well  of  human*  kind; 

734 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Nor  made  a  sacrifice  of  those 
Who  still  were  true,  to  please  his  foes. 
He  laboured  many  a  fruitful  hour, 
To  reconcile  his  friends  in  power; 
Saw  mischief  by  a  faction  brewing, 
While  they  pursued  each  other's  ruin. 
But  finding  vain  was  all  his  care, 
He  left  the  Court  in  mere  despair. 

'And,  oh!  how  short  are  human  schemes! 
Here  ended  all  our  golden  dreams. 
What  St.  John's  skill  in  state  affairs. 
What  Ormond's  valour,  Oxford's  cares, 
To  save  their  sinking  country  lent. 
Was  all  destroyed  by  one  event. 
Too  soon  that  precious  life  was  ended. 
On  which  alone  our  weal  depended. 
When  up  a  dangerous  faction  starts, 
With  wrath  and  vengeance  in  their  hearts. 
By  solemn  league  and  covenant  bound, 
To  ruin,  slaughter,  and  confound: 
To  turn  religion  to  a  fable, 
And  make  the  government  a  Babel; 
Pervert  the  laws,  disgrace  the  gown, 
Corrupt  the  senate,  rob  the  crown; 
To  sacrifice  old  England's  glory. 
And  make  her  infamous  in  story: 
When  such  a  tempest  shook  the  land, 
How  could  unguarded  Virtue  stand! 
With  horror,  grief,  despair,  the  Dean 
Beheld  the  dire  destructive  scene: 
His  friends  in  exile,  or  the  tower, 
Himself  within  the  frown  of  power; 

735 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Pursued  by  base  envenom'd  pens, 
Far  to  the  land  of  saints  and  fens; 
A  servile  race  in  folly  nursed, 
Who  truckle  most,  when  treated  worst. 

'By  innocence  and  resolution, 
He  bore  continual  persecution. 
While  numbers  to  preferment  rose. 
Whose  merits  were,  to  be  his  foes; 
When  e'en  his  own  familiar  friends, 
Intent  upon  their  private  ends, 
Like  renegadoes  now  he  feels. 
Against  him  lifting  up  their  heels. 

'The  Dean  did,  by  his  pen,  defeat 
An  infamous  destructive  cheat; 
Taught  fools  their  interest  how  to  know, 
And  gave  them  arms  to  ward  the  blow. 
Envy  has  owned  it  was  his  doing, 
To  save  that  hapless  land  from  ruin; 
While  they  who  at  the  steerage  stood, 
And  reaped  the  profit,  sought  his  blood. 

'To  save  them  from  their  evil  fate, 
In  him  was  held  a  crime  of  state. 
A  wicked  monster  on  the  bench, 
Whose  fury  blood  could  never  quench, 
As  vile  and  profligate  a  villain. 
As  modern  Scroggs,  or  old  Tresilian: 
Who  long  all  justice  has  discarded, 
Nor  feared  he  God,  nor  man  regarded; 
Vowed  on  the  Dean  his  rage  to  vent. 
And  make  him  of  his  zeal  repent; 
But  Heaven  his  innocence  defends, 
The  grateful  people  stand  his  friends; 

;36 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Not  strains  of  law,  nor  judge's  frown, 
Nor  topics  brought  to  please  the  crown, 
Nor  witness  hired,  nor  jury  pick'd. 
Prevail  to  bring  him  in  convict. 

'In  exile,  with  a  steady  heart. 
He  spent  his  life's  declining  part; 
Where  folly,  pride,  and  faction  sway. 
Remote  from  St.  John,  Pope,  and  Gay. 
His  friendships  there,  to  few  confined, 
Were  always  of  the  middling  kind; 
No  fools  of  rank,  a  mongrel  breed. 
Who  fain  would  pass  for  lords  indeed: 
Where  titles  give  no  right  or  power, 
And  peerage  is  a  withered  flower; 
He  would  have  held  it  a  disgrace. 
If  such  a  wretch  had  known  his  face. 
On  rural  squires,  that  kingdom's  bane, 
He  vented  oft  his  wrath  in  vain; 
.  .  .  squires  to  market  brought, 
Who  sell  their  souls  and  ...  for  nought. 
The  ...  go  joyful  back, 
The  .  .  .  the  church  their  teanants  rack, 
Go  snacks  with  .  .  . 
And  keep  the  peace  to  pick  up  fees; 
In  every  job  to  have  a  share, 
A  gaol  or  turnpike  to  repair; 
And  turn  the  tax  for  public  roads. 
Commodious  to  their  own  abodes. 

'Perhaps  I  may  allow  the  Dean 
Had  too  much  satire  in  his  vein; 
And  seemed  determined  not  to  starve  it. 
Because  no  age  could  more  deserve  it. 


737 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Yet  malice  never  was  his  aim; 

He  lashed  the  vice,  but  spared  the  name; 

No  individual  could  resent, 

Where  thousands  equally  were  meant; 

His  satire  points  at  no  defect. 

But  what  all  mortals  may  correct; 

For  he  abhorr'd  that  senseless  tribe 

Who  call  it  humour  when  they  gibe: 

He  spared  a  hump,  or  crooked  nose. 

Whose  owners  set  not  up  for  beaux. 

True  genuine  dulness  moved  his  pity, 

Unless  it  offered  to  be  witty. 

Those  who  their  ignorance  confess'd, 

He  ne'er  offended  with  a  jest; 

But  laughed  to  hear  an  idiot  quote 

A  verse  from  Horace  learn'd  by  rote. 

'He  knew  a  hundred  pleasing  stories, 
With  all  the  turns  of  Whigs  and  Tories: 
Was  cheerful  to  his  dying  day, 
And  friends  would  let  him  have  his  way. 

'He  gave  the  little  wealth  he  had 
To  build  a  house  for  fools  and  mad; 
And  showed  by  one  satiric  touch. 
No  nation  wanted  it  so  much. 
That  kingdom  he  had  left  his  debtor, 
I  wish  it  soon  may  have  a  better.' 


;.  Swift 


738 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

'.02.  Theristes,   or  the  Lordling 

the  Grandson  of  a  Bricklayer,  Great- 
Grandson   of  a  Butcher 

'T^HERISTES  of  amphibious  breed, 

■'■       Motley  fruit  of  mongrel  seed: 
By  the  dam  from  lordlings  sprung, 
By  the  sire  exhaled  from  dung: 
Think  on  every  vice  in  both. 
Look  on  him,  and  see  their  grovi'th. 

View  him  on  the  mother's  side, 
Filled  with  falsehood,  spleen,  and  pride. 
Positive  and  overbearing. 
Changing  still,  and  still  adhering, 
Spiteful,  peevish,  rude,  untoward. 
Fierce  in  tongue,  in  heart  a  coward; 
When  his  friends  he  most  is  hard  on. 
Cringing  comes  to  beg  their  pardon; 
Reputation  ever  tearing, 
Ever  dearest  friendship  swearing; 
Judgment  weak,  and  passion  strong; 
Always  various,  always  wrong; 
Provocation  never  waits. 
Where  he  loves,  or  where  he  hates; 
Talks  whate'er  comes  in  his  head, 
Wishes  it  were  all  unsaid. 

Let  me  now  the  vices  trace. 
From  his  father's  scoundrel  race. 
Who  could  give  the  looby  such  airs  ? 
Were  they  masons  ?  Were  they  butchers  ? 
Herald  lend  the  Muse  an  answer, 

739 


THE  BOOK  OF 

From  his  atavus  and  grandsire! 
This  was  dexterous  at  his  trowel, 
That  was  bred  to  kill  a  cow  well: 
Hence  the  greasy  clumsy  mien 
In  his  dress  and  figure  seen; 
Hence  that  mean  and  sordid  soul, 
Like  his  body,  rank  and  foul; 
Hence  that  wild  suspicious  peep, 
Like  a  rogue  that  steals  a  sheep; 
Hence  he  learned  the  butcher's  guile, 
How  to  cut  a  throat  and  smile; 
Like  a  butcher  doomed  for  life 
In  his  mouth  to  wear  his  knife; 
Hence  he  draws  his  daily  food. 
From  his  tenant's  vital  blood. 
Lastly,  let  his  gifts  be  tried. 
Borrowed  from  the  mason-side. 
Some,  perhaps,  may  think  him  able 
In  the  state  to  build  a  Babel; 
Could  we  place  him  in  a  station 
To  destroy  the  old  foundation. 
True,  indeed,  I  should  be  gladder 
Could  he  learn  to  mount  a  ladder. 
May  he  at  his  latter  end 
Mount  alive,  and  dead  descend. 
In  him  tell  me,  which  prevail. 
Female  vices  most,  or  male  f 
What  produced  them,  can  you  tell  ? 
Human  race,  or  imp  of  Hell  ? 


740 


T.  Tickell 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

^oj.  A  Gnib  Street  Elegy 

on  the  Supposed  Death   of  Partridge  the 
Almanack  Maker      1 708 

A  X  ^ELL;  'tis  as  BickerstafF  has  guessed, 
*  ^       Though  we  all  took  it  for  a  jest — 
Partridge  is  dead;  nay  more,  he  died, 
Ere  he  could  prove  the  good  'squire  lied. 
Strange,  an  astrologer  should  die 
Without  one  wonder  in  the  sky; 
Not  one  of  all  his  crony  stars 
To  pay  their  duty  at  his  hearse! 
No  meteor,  no  eclipse  appear'd! 
No  comet  with  a  flaming  beard! 
The  sun  has  rose  and  gone  to  bed, 
Just  as  if  Partridge  were  not  dead; 
Nor  hid  himself  behind  the  moon 
To  make  a  dreadful  night  at  noon. 
He  at  fit  periods  walks  through  Aries, 
Howe'er  our  earthly  motion  varies; 
And  twice  a  year  he'll  cut  th'  Equator, 
As  if  there  had  been  no  such  matter. 

Some  wits  have  wonder'd  what  analogy 
There  is  'twixt  cobbhng  and  astrology; 
How  Partridge  made  his  optics  rise 
From  a  shoe-sole  to  reach  the  skies. 

A  list  the  cobbler's  temples  ties, 
To  keep  the  hair  out  of  his  eyes; 
From  whence  'tis  plain  the  diadem 
That  princes  wear  derives  from  them; 
And  therefore  crowns  are  now-a-days 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Adorn'd  with  golden  stars  and  rays; 
Which  plainly  shows  the  near  alliance 
'Twixt  cobbling  and  the  planet's  science. 

Besides,  that  slow-paced  sign  Bootes, 
As  'tis  miscalled,  we  know  not  who  'tis; 
But  Partridge  ended  all  disputes; 
He  knew  his  trade,  and  called  it  Boots. 

The  horned  moon,  which  heretofore 
Upon  their  shoes  the  Romans  wore, 
Whose  wideness  kept  their  toes  from  corns, 
And  whence  we  claim  our  shoeing-horns, 
Shows  how  the  art  of  cobbling  bears 
A  near  resemblance  to  the  spheres. 
A  scrap  of  parchment  hung  by  geometry, 
(A  great  refiner  in  barometry,) 
Can,  like  the  stars,  foretell  the  weather; 
And  what  is  parchment  else  but  leather? 
Which  an  astrologer  might  use 
Either  for  almanacks  or  shoes. 

Thus  Partridge,  by  his  wits  and  parts 
At  once  did  practise  both  these  arts; 
And  as  the  boding  owl  (or  rather 
The  bat,  because  her  wings  are  leather) 
Steals  from  her  private  cell  by  night, 
And  flies  about  the  candle-light; 
So  learned  Partridge  could  as  well 
Creep  in  the  dark  from  leathern  cell. 
And  in  his  fancy  fly  as  far 
To  peep  upon  a  twinkling  star. 

Besides,  he  could  confound  the  spheres, 
And  set  the  planets  by  the  ears; 
To  show  his  skill,  he  Mars  could  join 
742 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

To  Venus  in  aspect  malign; 

Then  call  in  Mercury  for  aid, 

And  cure  the  wounds  that  Venus  made. 

Great  scholars  have  in  Lucian  read, 
When  Philip  King  of  Greece  was  dead, 
His  soul  and  spirit  did  divide. 
And  each  part  took  a  different  side; 
One  rose  a  star,  the  other  fell 
Beneath,  and  mended  shoes  in  hell. 

Thus  Partridge  still  shines  in  each  art, 
The  cobbling  and  star-gazing  part. 
And  is  install'd  as  good  a  star 
As  any  of  the  Caesars  are. 

Triumphant  star!  some  pity  show 
On  cobblers  militant  below, 
Whom  roguish  boys,  in  stormy  nights, 

Torment  by  p out  their  lights, 

Or  through  a  chink  convey  their  smoke, 
Enclosed  artificers  to  choke. 

Thou,  high  exalted  in  thy  sphere, 
May'st  follow  still  thy  calling  there. 
To  thee  the  Bull  will  lend  his  hide, 
By  Phoebus  newly  tanned  and  dried; 
For  thee  thy  Argo's  hulk  will  tax, 
And  scrape  her  pitchy  sides  for  wax; 
Then  Ariadne  kindly  lends 
Her  braided  hair  to  make  thee  ends; 
The  points  of  Sagittarius'  dart 
Turns  to  an  awl  by  heavenly  art; 
And  Vulcan,  wheedled  by  his  wife. 
Will  forge  for  thee  a  paring-knife. 
For  want  of  room  by  Virgo's  side, 

743 


THE  BOOK  OF 

She'll  strain  a  point,  and  sit  astride, 
To  take  thee  kindly  in  between; 
And  then  the  Signs  will  be  Thirteen. 

The  Epitaph 
Here,  five  feet  deep,  lies  on  his  back 
A  cobbler,  star  monger,  and  quack; 
Who  to  the  stars,  in  pure  good  ivtll. 
Does  to  his  best  look  upu'ard  still. 
Weep,  all  you  customers  that  use 
His  pills,  his  almanacks,  or  shoes; 
And  you  that  did  your  fortune's  seek. 
Step  to  his  grave  but  once  a-iveek; 
This  earth,  which  bears  his  body's  print, 
You'll  find  has  so  much  virtue  in't. 
That  I  durst  pawn  my  ears,  'twill  tell 
Whate'er  concerns  you  full  as  well. 
In  physic,  stolen  goods,  or  love. 
As  he  himself  could,  when  above. 


J.  Swift 


404.  On  a  Fly 

"DUSY,  curious,  thirsty  fly! 
-■-^     Drink  with  me  and  drink  as  I; 
Freely  welcome  to  my  cup, 
Couldst  thou  sip  and  sip  it  up: 
Make  the  most  of  life  you  may, 
Life  is  short  and  wears  away. 

Both  alike  are  mine  and  thine 
Hastening  quick  to  their  decline: 
744 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thine's  a  summer,  mine's  no  more, 
Though  repeated  to  threescore. 
Threescore  summers,  when  they're  gone. 
Will  appear  as  short  as  one! 


W.  Oldys 


405,  The  Wine  Fault 


/^ONTENTED  I  am,  and  contented  I'll  be, 
^-^     For  what  can  this  world  more  afford, 
Than  a  lass  who  will  sociably  sit  on  my  knee, 
And  a  cellar  as  sociably  stored. 

My  brave  boys  ? 

My  vault  door  is  open,  descend  and  improve, 

That  cask, — aye,  that  we  will  try; 
'Tis  as  rich  to  the  taste  as  the  lips  of  your  love, 

And  as  bright  as  her  cheeks  to  the  eye, 

My  brave  boys. 

In  a  piece  of  slit  hoop,  see  my  candle  is  stuck, 

'Twill  light  us  each  bottle  to  hand; 
The  foot  of  my  glass  for  the  purpose  I  broke. 

As  I  hate  that  bumper  should  stand, 

My  brave  boys. 

Astride  on  a  butt,  as  a  butt  should  be  strod, 

I  gallop  the  brusher  along; 
Like  grape-blessing  Bacchus,  the  good  fellow's  god, 
And  a  sentiment  give,  or  a  song. 

My  brave  boys. 
745 


THE  BOOK  OF 

We  are  dry  where  we  sit,  though  the  oozing  drops  seem 

With  pearls  the  moist  walls  to  emboss; 
From  the  arch  mouldy  cobwebs  in  gothic  taste  stream, 

Like  stucco-work  cut  of  moss, 

My  brave  boys. 

When  the  lamp  is  brimful,  how  the  taper  flame  shines. 
Which,  when  moisture  is  wanting,  decays; 

Replenish  the  lamp  of  my  life  with  rich  wines, 
Or  else  there's  an  end  of  my  blaze, 

My  brave  boys. 

Sound  those  pipes, — they're  in  tune,  and  those  bins  are 
well  filled. 
View  that  heap  of  old  Hock  in  your  rear; 
Yon  bottles  are  Burgundy!  mark  how  they're  piled, 
Like  artillery,  tier  over  tier. 

My  brave  boys. 

My  cellar's  my  camp,  and  my  soldiers  my  flasks. 

All  gloriously  ranged  in  review; 
When  I  cast  my  eyes  round,  I  consider  mv  casks 

As  kingdoms  I've  yet  to  subdue, 

My  brave  boys. 

Like  Macedon's  madman,  my  glass  I'll  enjoy, 

Defying  hyp,  gravel,  or  gout; 
He  cried  when  he  had  no  more  worlds  to  destroy, 
I'll  weep  when  my  liquor  is  out, 

My  brave  boys. 
746 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

On  their  stumps  some  have  fought,  and  as  stoutly  will  I, 

When  reeling,  I  roll  on  the  floor; 
Then  my  legs  must  be  lost,  so  I'll  drink  as  I  lie, 

And  dare  the  best  buck  to  do  more, 

My  brave  boys. 

'Tis  my  will  when  I  die,  not  a  tear  shall  be  shed, 

No  Hie  jacet  be  cut  on  my  stone; 

But  pour  on  my  coffin  a  bottle  of  red, 

And  say  that  his  drinking  is  done, 

My  brave  boys! 

G.  A.  Stevens 


406.  Trifles 

A     TRIFLING  song  you  shall  hear; 
Begun  with  a  trifle  and  ended. 
All  trifling  people  draw  near. 
And  I  shall  be  nobly  attended. 

Were  it  not  for  trifles  a  few. 

That  lately  have  come  into  play; 

The  men  would  want  something  to  do, 
And  the  women  want  something  to  say. 

What  makes  men  trifle  in  dressing  ? 

Because  the  ladies,  they  know, 
Admire,  by  often  possessing. 

That  eminent  trifle,  a  Beau. 

747 


THE  BOOK  OF 

What  mortal  man  would  be  able 

At  White's  half  an  hour  to  sit, 
Or  who  could  bear  a  tea-table, 

W  ithout  talking  of  trifles  for  wit  ? 

The  Court  is  from  trifles  secure; 

Gold  Keys  are  no  trifles,  we  see; 
White  rods  are  no  trifles,  I'm  sure. 

Whatever  their  bearers  may  be. 

But  if  you  will  go  to  the  place 

Where  trifles  abundantly  breed, 
The  Levee  will  show  you  his  Grace 

Makes  promises  trifles  indeed. 

A  coach  with  six  footmen  behind, 

I  count  neither  trifle,  nor  sin; 
But,  ye  gods!  how  oft  do  we  find 

A  scandalous  trifle  within. 

A  flask  of  champagne,  people  think  it 

A  trifle,  or  something  as  bad; 
But  if  you'll  contrive  how  to  drink  it, 

You'll  find  it  no  trifle,  egad! 

A  parson's  a  trifle  at  sea, 

A  widovv's  a  trifle  in  sorrovr; 
A  peace  is  a  trifle  to-day; 

Who  knows  what  ma)-  happen  to-morrow  ? 

A  black  coat,  a  trifle  may  cloak; 

Or  to  hide  it,  the  red  may  endeavour; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

But  if  once  the  army  is  broke, 
We  shall  have  more  trifles  than  ever. 

The  stage  is  a  trifle,  they  say; 

The  reason,  pray  carry  along; 
Because  at  ev'ry  new  play, 

The  house  they  with  trifles  so  throng. 

But  with  people's  malice  to  trifle, 

And  to  set  us  all  on  a  foot; 
The  author  of  this  is  a  trifle, 

And  his  Song  is  a  trifle  to  boot. 

G.  FarquJiar 

40'/.  Verses,  Imitated  From    the  French 
of  Mons.  Maynard  to   Cardinal 
Richelieu 

\  X  7HEN  money  and  my  blood  ran  high, 
^  ^       My  muse  was  reckon'd  wondrous  pretty; 
The  sports  and  smiles  did  round  her  fly, 
Enamoured  with  her  smart  concetti. 

Now  (who  'd  have  thought  it  once  ?)  with  pain 
She  strings  her  harp,  whilst  freezing  age 

But  feebly  runs  through  every  vein. 
And  chill'd  my  brisk  poetic  rage. 

I  properly  have  ceased  to  live. 

To  wine  and  women,  dead  in  law; 
And  soon  from  fate  I  shall  receive 

A  summons  to  the  shades  to  go. 

749 


THE  BOOK  OF 

The  warrior  ghosts  will  round  me  come 

To  hear  of  famed  Ramillia's  fight, 
Whilst  the  vext  Bourbons  through  the  gloom 
.  Retire  to  the  utmost  realms  of  night. 

Then  I,  my  lord,  will  tell  how  you 

With  pensions  every  muse  inspire; 
Who  Marlborough's  conquests  did  pursue, 

And  to  his  trumpets  tuned  the  lyre. 

But  should  some  drolling  sprite  demand, 
Well,  Sir,  what  place  had  you,  I  pray  f 

How  like  a  coxcomb  should  I  stand! 

What  would  your  Lordship  have  me  say  ? 

G.  Stepney 


^jio8.  Careless   Content 

7    AM  content,  I  do  not  care, 

-*-     Wag  as  it  will  the  world  for  me; 

When  fuss  and  fret  was  all  my  fare, 

It  got  no  ground,  as  I  could  see: 
So  when  away  my  caring  went, 
I  counted  cost,  and  was  content. 

With  more  of  thanks  and  less  of  thought, 
I  strive  to  make  my  matters  meet; 

To  seek  what  ancient  sages  sought. 
Physic  and  food,  in  sour  and  sweet: 

To  take  what  passes  in  good  part. 

And  keep  the  hiccups  from  the  heart. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

With  good  and  gentle  humour'd  hearts, 
I  choose  to  chat  where'er  I  come, 

Whate'er  the  subject  be  that  starts; 
But  if  I  get  among  the  glum, 

I  hold  my  tongue  to  tell  the  troth. 

And  keep  my  breath  to  cool  my  broth. 

For  chance  or  change  of  peace  or  pain; 

For  fortune's  favour  or  her  frown; 
For  lack  of  glut,  for  loss  or  gain, 

I  never  dodge,  nor  up  nor  down: 
But  swing  what  way  the  ship  shall  swim, 
Or  take  about,  with  equal  trim. 

I  suit  not  where  I  shall  not  speed, 
Nor  trace  the  turn  of  every  tide; 

If  simple  sense  will  not  succeed, 
I  make  no  bustling,  but  abide: 

For  shining  wealth,  or  scaring  woe, 

I  force  no  friend,  I  fear  no  foe. 

I  love  my  neighbour  as  myself, 
Myself  like  him  too,  by  his  leave; 

Nor  to  his  pleasure,  pow'r,  or  pelf, 
Came  I  to  crouch,  as  I  conceive: 

Dame  Nature  doubtless  has  design'd 

A  man,  the  monarch  of  his  mind. 

Now  taste  and  try  this  temper,  sirs, 
Mood  it,  and  brood  it  in  your  breast; 

Or  if  ye  ween,  for  wordly  stirs. 

That  man  does  right  to  mar  his  rest; 

751 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Let  me  be  deft,  and  debonair, 
I  am  content,  I  do  not  care. 

J-Byr 


/f-Og.  '      Ode  on  Solitude 

T  T  APPY  the  man  whose  wish  and  care 
-*--*-      A  few  paternal  acres  bound. 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air, 
In  his  own  ground. 

Whose  herds  with  milk,  whose  fields  with  bread, 

Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire; 
Whose  trees  in  summer  yield  him  shade, 
In  winter  fire. 

Blest,  who  can  unconcern'dly  find 

Hours,  days,  and  years  slide  soft  away, 
In  health  of  body,  peace  of  mind. 
Quiet  by  day, 

Sound  sleep  by  night;  study  and  ease 

Together  mixed;  sweet  recreation; 
And  innocence,  which  most  does  please, 
With  meditation. 

Thus  let  me  live,  unseen,  unknown, 

Thus  unlamented  let  me  die, 
Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a  stone 
Tell  where  I  lie. 


J.  Pope 


75- 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

410.  The  Hermit 

TI^AR  in  a  wild,  unknown  to  public  view, 
■'-        From  youth  to  age  a  reverend  hermit  grew; 
The  moss  his  bed,  the  cave  his  humble  cell, 
His  food  the  fruits,  his  drink  the  crystal   well: 
Remote  from  man,  with  God  he  passed  the  days, 
Pray'r  all  his  business,  all  his  pleasure  praise. 

A  life  so  sacred,  such  serene  repose. 
Seemed  heav'n  itself  till  one  suggestion  rose; 
That  vice  should  triumph,  virtue  vice  obey. 
This  sprung  some  doubt  of  Providence's  sway: 
His  hopes  no  more  a  certain  prospect  boast, 
And  all  the  tenour  of  his  soul  is  lost. 
So  when  a  smooth  expanse  receives  imprest 
Calm  Nature's  image  on  its  watery  breast, 
Down  bend  the  banks,  the  trees  depending  grow, 
And  skies  beneath  with  answ'ring  colours  glow; 
But  if  a  stone  the  gentle  scene  divide, 
Swift  ruffling  circles  curl  on  every  side. 
And  glimmering  fragments  of  a  broken  sun, 
Banks,  trees,  and  skies,  in  thick  disorder  run. 

To  clear  this  doubt,  to  know  the  world  by  sight. 
To  find  if  books,  or  swains,  report  it  right 
(For  yet  by  swains  alone  the  world  he  knew, 
Whose  feet  came  wand'ring  o'er  the  nightly  dew), 
He  quits  his  cell:  the  pilgrim-staff  he  bore, 
And  fixed  the  scallop  in  his  hat  before; 
Then  with  the  sun  a  rising  journey  went. 
Sedate  to  think  and  watching  each  event. 

The  morn  was  wasted  in  the  pathless  grass, 
And  long  and  lonesome  was  the  wild  to  pass; 

753 


THE  BOOK  OF 

An-I  when  the  southern  sun  had  warmed  the  day, 
A  youth  came  posting  o'er  a  crossing  way — 
His  raiment  decent,  his  complexion  fair, 
And  sotr  in  graceflil  ringlets  waved  his  hair. 
Then,  near  approaching,  'Father,  hail!'  he  cried; 
'And  hail,  my  son!'  the  reverend  sire  replied. 
Words  followed  words,  from  question  answer  flowed, 
And  talk  of  various  kind  deceived  the  road; 
Till,  each  with  other  pleased,  and  loth  to  part, 
While  in  their  age  they  differ,  join  in  heart: 
Thus  stands  an  aged  elm,  in  ivy  bound; 
Thus  youthful  ivy  clasps  an  elm  around. 

Now  sunk  the  sun;  the  closing  hour  of  day 
Came  onward,  mantled  o'er  with  sober  grey; 
Nature  in  silence  bid  the  world  repose; 
When  near  the  road  a  stately  palace  rose: 
There  by  the  moon  through  ranks  of  trees  they  pass. 
Whose  verdure  crowned  their  sloping  sides  of  grass. 
It  chanced  the  noble  master  of  the  dome 
Still  made  his  house  the  wand'ring  stranger  s  home; 
Yet  still  the  kindness,  from  a  thirst  of  praise, 
Proved  the  vain  flourish  of  expensive  ease. 
The  pair  arrived:  the  liv'ried  servants  wait; 
Their  lord  receives  them  at  the  pompous  gate; 
The  table  groans  with  costly  piles  of  food. 
And  all  is  more  than  hospitably  good; 
Then,  led  to  rest,  the  day's  long  toil  they  drown, 
Deep  sunk  in  sleep  and  silk  and  heaps  of  down. 

At  length  'tis  morn,  and  at  the  dawn  of  day 
Along  the  wide  canals  the  zephyrs  play; 
Fresh  o'er  the  gay  parterres  the  breezes  creep. 
And  shake  the  neighbouring  wood  to  banish  sleep. 

754 


RESTORAIION  VERSE 

Up  rise  the  guests,  obedient  to  the  call: 

An  early  banquet  decked  the  splendid  hall; 

Rich  luscious  wine  a  golden  goblet  graced, 

Which  the  kind  master  forced  the  guests  to  taste; 

Then,  pleased  and  thankful,  from  the  porch  they  go, 

And,  but  the  landlord,  itone  had  cause  of  woe — 

His  cup  was  vanished,  for  in  secret  guise 

Th'e  younger  guest  purloined  the  glittering  prize. 

As  one  who  'spies  a  serpent  in  his  way, 
Glist'ning  and  basking  in  the  summer  ray. 
Disordered  stops  to  shun  the  danger  near, 
Then  walks  with  taintness  on  and  looks  with  fear; 
So  seemed  the  sire,  when,  far  upon  the  road. 
The  shining  spoil  his  wily  partner  showed: 
He  stopped  with  silence,  walked  with  trembling  heart, 
And  much  he  wished,  but  durst  not  ask,  to  part; 
Murmuring  he  lifts  his  eyes,  and  thinks  it  hard 
That  generous  actions  meet  a  base  reward. 

While  thus  they  pass,  the  sun  his  glory  shrouds; 
The  changing  skies  hang  out  their  sable  clouds; 
A  sound  in  air  presaged  approaching  rain. 
And  beasts  to  covert  scud  across  the  plain. 
Warned  by  the  signs,  the  wand'ring  pair  retreat, 
To  seek  for  shelter  at  a  neighbouring  seat. 
'Twas  built  with  turrets,  on  a  rising  ground, 
And  strong,  and  large,  and  unimproved  arcund; 
Its  owner's  temper,  tim'rous  and  severe. 
Unkind  and  griping,  caused  a  desert  there. 

As  near  the  miser's  heavy  doors  they  drew, 
Fierce  rising  gusts  with  sudden  fury  blew; 
The  nimble  lightning,  mixed  with  show'rs,  began. 
And  o'er  their  heads  loud-rolling  thunders  rgn. 

755 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Here  long  they  knock,  but  knock  or  call  in  vain, 
Driv'n  by  the  wind  and  battered  by  the  rain. 
At  length  some  pity  warmed  the  master's  breast 
('Twas  then  his  threshold  first  received  a  guest): 
Slow  creaking,  turns  the  door  with  Jealous  care, 
And  half  he  welcomes  in  the  shivermg  pair; 
One  frugal  faggot  lights  the  naked  walls, 
And  nature's  fervour  through  their  limbs  recalls; 
Bread  of  the  coarsest  sort,  with  eager  wine, 
Each  hardly  granted,  served  them  both  to  dine; 
And  when  the  tempest  first  appeared  to  cease, 
A  ready  warning  bid  them  part  in  peace. 
With  still  remark  the  pond'ring  hermit  viewed 
In  one  so  rich  a  life  so  poor  and  rude; 
'And  why  should  such,'  within  himself  he  cried, 
'Lock  the  lost  wealth  a  thousand  want  beside.^' 
But  what  new  marks  of  wonder  soon  took  place 
In  ev'ry  settling  feature  of  his  face. 
When  from  his  vest  the  young  companion  bore 
That  cup  the  gen'rous  landlord  owned  before, 
And  paid  profusely,  with  the  precious  bowl. 
The  stinted  kindness  of  this  churlish  soul! 

But  now  the  clouds  in  airy  tumult  fly; 
The  sun,  emerging,  opes  an  azure  sky; 
A  fresher  green  the  smelling  leaves  display, 
And,  glittering  as  they  tremble,  cheer  the  day: 
The  weather  courts  them  from  the  poor  retreat, 
And  the  glad  master  bolts  the  wary  gate. 

While  hence  they  walk,  the  pilgrim's  bosom  wrought 
With  all  the  travail  of  uncertain  thought: 
His  partner's  ^cts  without  their  cause  appear; 
'Twas  there  a  vice,  and  seemed  a  madness  here; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Detesting  that,  and  pitying  this,  he  goes, 
Lost  and  confounded  with  the  various  shows. 

Now  night's  dim  shades  again  involve  the  sky; 
Again  the  wanderers  want  a  place  to  He; 
Again  they  search,  and  find  a  lodging  nigh: 
The  soil  improved  around,  the  mansion  neat, 
And  neither  poorly  low  nor  idly  great; 
It  seemed  to  speak  its  master's  turn  of  mind — 
Content,  and  not  for  praise,  but  virtue  kind. 
Hither  the  walkers  turn  with  weary  feet. 
Then  bless  the  mansion  and  the  master  greet. 
Their  greeting,  fair  bestowed,  with  modest  guise 
The  courteous  master  hears,  and  thus  replies: 
'Without  a  vain,  without  a  grudging  heart. 
To  Him  who  gives  us  all  I  yield  a  part; 
From  Him  you  come,  for  Him  accept  it  here, 
A  frank  and  sober,  more  than  costly  cheer.' 
He  spoke,  and  bid  the  welcome  table  spread. 
Then  talked  of  virtue  till  the  time  of  bed. 
When  the  grave  household  round  his  hall  repair, 
Warned  by  a  bell,  and  close  the  hours  with  pray'r. 

At  length  the  world,  renewed  by  calm  repose, 
Was  strong  for  toil;  the  dappled  morn  arose. 
Before  the  pilgrims  part,  the  younger  crept 
Near  the  closed  cradle  where  an  infant  slept. 
And  writhed  his  neck:  the  landlord's  little  pride 
(O  strange  return!)  grew  black  and  gasped  and  died! 
Horror  of  horrors!  what!  his  only  son! 
How  looked  our  hermit  when  the  act  was  done  .'' 
Not  hell,  though  hell's  black  jaws  in  sunder  part 
And  breathe  blue  fire,  could  more  assault  his  heart. 

Confused,  and  struck  with  silence  at  the  deed, 

757 


THE  BOOK  OF 

He  flies,  but,  trembling,  fails  to  fly  with  speed; 
His  steps  the  youth  pursues.  The  country  lay 
Perplexed  with  roads;  a  servant  showed  the  way. 
A  river  crossed  the  path;  the  passage  o'er 
Was  nice  to  find;  the  servant  trod  before; 
Long  arms  of  oak  an  open  bridge  supplied, 
And  deep  the  waves  beneath  the  bending  glide: 
The  youth,  who  seemed  to  watch  a  time  to  sin, 
Approached  the  careless  guide,  and  thrust  him  in; 
Plunging  he  falls,  and  rising  lifts  his  head, 
Then  flashing  turns  and  sinks  among  the  dead. 

Wild,  sparkling  rage  inflames  the  father's  eyes; 
He  bursts  the  bands  of  fear,  and  madly  cries, 
'Detested  wretch!' — but  scarce  his  speech  began, 
When  the  strange  partner  seemed  no  longer  man: 
His  youthful  face  grew  more  serenely  sweet; 
His  robe  turned  white,  and  flowed  upon  his  feet; 
Fair  rounds  of  radiant  points  invest  his  hair; 
Celestial  odours  breathe  through  purpled  air; 
And  wings,  whose  colours  glittered  on  the  day, 
Wide  at  his  back  their  gradual  plumes  display. 
The  form  ethereal  bursts  upon  his  sight, 
And  moves  in  all  the  majesty  of  light. 
Though  loud  at  first  the  pilgrim's  passion  grew, 
Sudden  he  gazed,  and  wist  not  what  to  do; 
Surprise  in  secret  chains  his  words  suspends, 
And  in  a  calm  his  settling  temper  ends. 
But  silence  here  the  beauteous  angel  broke; 
The  voice  of  music  ravished  as  he  spoke: 

'Thy  pray'r,  thy  praise,  thy  life  to  vice  unknown, 
In  sweet  memorial  rise  before  the  throne: 
These  charms  success  in  our  bright  region  find, 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

And  force  an  angel  down  to  calm  thy  mind; 
For  this  commissioned,  I  forsook  the  sky — 
Nay,  cease  to  kneel!  thy  fellow-servant  I. 

'Then  know  the  truth  of  government  divine, 
And  let  these  scruples  be  no  longer  thine. 
The  Maker  justly  claims  that  world  He  made; 
In  this  the  right  of  Providence  is  laid; 
Its  sacred  majesty  through  all  depends 
On  using  second  means  to  work  His  ends: 
'Tis  til  us,  withdrawn  in  state  from  human  eye, 
The  Pow'r  exerts  His  attributes  on  high. 
Your  actions  uses,  not  controls  your  will. 
And  bids  the  doubting  sons  of  men  be  still. 
What  strange  events  can  strike  with  more  surprise 
Than  those  which  lately  struck  thy  wond'ring  eyes  ? 
Yet,  taught  by  these,  confess  th'  Almighty  just. 
And  where  you  can't  unriddle,  learn  to  trust! 

'The  great  vain  man,  who  fared  on  costly  food, 
Whose  life  was  too  luxurious  to  be  good, 
Who  made  his  ivory  stands  with  goblets  shine. 
And  forced  his  guests  to  morning  draughts  of  wine, 
Has,  with  cup,  the  graceless  custom  lost. 
And  still  he  welcomes  but  with  less  of  cost. 
The  mean,  suspicious  wretch,  whose  bolted  door 
Ne'er  moved  in  duty  to  the  wand'ring  poor. 
With  him  I  left  the  cup,  to  teach  his  mind 
That  Heav'n  can  bless  if  mortals  will  be  kind. 
Conscious  of  wanting  worth,  he  views  the  bowl, 
And  feels  compassion  touch  his  grateful  soul. 
Thus  artists  melt  the  sullen  ore  of  lead 
With  heaping  coals  of  fire  upon  its  head; 
In  the  kind  warmth  the  metal  learns  to  glow, 

759 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And,  loose  from  dross,  the  silver  runs  below. 

Long  had  our  pious  friend  in  virtue  trod, 

But  now  the  child  half  weaned  his  heart  from  God; 

Child  of  his  age,  for  him  he  lived  in  pain, 

And  measured  back  his  steps  to  earth  again. 

To  what  excesses  had  his  dotage  run! 

But  God,  to  save  the  father,  took  the  son. 

To  all  but  thee  in  fits  he  seemed  to  go, 

And  'twas  my  ministry  to  deal  the  blow. 

The  poor  fond  parent,  humbled  in  the  dust, 

Now  owns  in  tears  the  punishment  was  just. 

But  how  had  all  his  fortune  felt  a  wrack 

Had  that  false  servant  sped  in  safety  back! 

This  night  his  treasured  heaps  he  meant  to  steal, 

And  what  a  fund  of  charity  would  fail! 

'Thus  Heav'n  instructs  thy  mind:  this  trial  o'er, 
Depart  in  peace,  resign,  and  sin  no  more!' 

On  sounding  pinions  here  the  youth  withdrew; 
The  sage  stood  wond'ring  as  the  seraph  flew: 
Thus  looked  Elisha,  when,  to  mount  on  high, 
His  master  took  the  chariot  of  the  sky; 
The  fiery  pomp  ascending  left  the  view; 
The  prophet  gazed,  and  wished  to  follow  too. 
The  bending  hermit  here  a  pray'r  begun: 
'Lord,  as  in  heaven,  on  earth  Thy  will  be  done!* 
Then,  gladly  turning,  sought  his  ancient  place, 
And  passed  a  life  of  piety  and  peace. 

r.  Parnell 


760 


RESTORATION  VERSE 
411.  The  Wish 

T  F  I  live  to  be  old,  for  I  find  I  go  down, 

-^    Let  this  be  my  fate:  In  a  country  town, 

May  I  have  a  warm  house,  with  a  stone  at  the  gate, 

And  a  cleanly  young  girl  to  rub  my  bald  pate. 

Chorus,  May  I  govern  my  passion  with  an  absolute  sway, 

And  grow  wiser  and  better  as  my  strength  wears 
away. 

Without  gout  or  stone,  by  a  gentle  decay. 


May  my  little  house  stand  on  the  side  of  a  hill, 
With  an  easy  descent  to  a  mead  and  a  mill, 
That  when  I've  a  mind  I  may  hear  my  boy  read, 
In  the  mill  if  it  rains,  if  it's  dry  in  the  mead. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 


Near  a  shady  grove,  and  a  murmuring  brook. 
With  the  ocean  at  distance,  whereon  I  may  look, 
With  a  spacious  plain,  without  hedge  or  stile. 
And  an  easy  pad-hag  to  ride  out  a  mile. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 


With  Horace  and  Petrarch,  and  two  or  three  more 
Of  the  best  wits  that  reign'd  in  the  ages  before. 
With  roast  mutton,  rather  than  ven'son  or  veal," 
And  clean  tho'  coarse  linen  at  every  meal. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

761 


THE  BOOK  OF 

With  a  pudding  on  Sundays,  with  stout  humming  liquor, 
And  remnants  of  Latin  to  welcome  the  Vicar, 
With  Monte-Fiascone  or  Burgundy  wine, 
To  drink  to  the  King's  health  as  oft  as  I  dine, 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

May  my  wine  be  vermillion,  may  my  malt-drink  be  pale, 
In  neither  extreme,  or  too  mild  or  too  stale; 
In  lieu  of  deserts,  unwholesome  and  dear, 
Let  Lodi  or  Parmisan  bring  up  the  rear. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

Nor  Tory,  or  Whig,  Observator  or  Trimmer 
May  I  be,  nor  against  the  law's  torrent  a  swimmer. 
May  I  mind  what  I  speak,  what  I  write,  and  hear  read. 
But  with  matters  of  State  never  trouble  my  head. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

Let  the  Gods  who  dispose  of  every  king's  crown, 
Whom  soever  they  please  set  up  and  pull  down. 
I'll  pay  the  whole  shilling  imposed  on  my  head, 
Though  I  go  without  claret  that  night  to  my  bed. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

I'll  bleed  without  grumbling,  though  that  tax  should  appear 
As  oft  as  new  moons,  or  weeks  in  a  year; 
For  why  should  I  let  a  seditious  word  fall 
Since  my  lambs  in  Utopia  pay  nothing  at  all. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

Though  I  care  not  for  riches,  may  I  not  be  so  poor. 
That  the  rich  without  shame  cannot  enter  my  door; 
762 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

May  they  court  my  converse,  may  they  take  much  deHght, 
My  old  stories  to  hear  in  a  winter's  long  night. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

My  small  stock  of  wit  may  I  not  misapply, 
To  flatter  ill  men,  be  they  never  so  high, 
Nor  misspend  the  few  moments  I  steal  from  the  grave, 
In  fawning  and  cringing  like  a  dog  or  a  slave. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

May  none' whom  I  love,  to  so  great  riches  rise, 
As  to  slight  their  acquaintance,  and  their  old  friends  despise; 
So  low  or  so  high  may  none  of  them  be. 
As  to  move  either  pity  or  envy  in  me. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

A  friendship  I  wish  for,  but  alas,  'tis  in  vain! 
Jove's  store-house  is  empty,  and  can't  it  supply; 
So  firm  that  no  change  of  times,  envy,  or  gain, ' 
Or  flattery,  or  woman,  should  have  power  to  untie. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

But  if  friends  prove  unfaithful,  and  fortune  a  whore, 
Still  may  I  be  virtuous  though  I  am  poor; 
My  life  then  as  useless,  may  I  freely  resign. 
When  no  longer  I  relish  true  wit  and  good  wine. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

To  outlive  my  senses  may  ir  not  be  my  fate. 
To  be  blind,  to  be  deaf,  to  know  nothing  at  all; 

763 


THE  BOOK  OF 

But  rather  let  death  come  before  'tis  too  late, 
And  while  there's  some  sap  in  it,  may  my  tree  fall. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

I  hope  I  shall  have  no  occasion  to  send 
For  priests  or  physicians  till  I  am  near  to  mine  end, 
That  I  have  eat  all  my  bread,  and  drank  my  last  glass, 
Let  then  come  them,  and  set  their  seals  to  my  pass. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

With  a  courage  undaunted,  may  I  face  my  last  day. 
And  when  I  am  dead  may  the  better  sort  say, 
'In  the  morning  when  sober,  in  the  evening  when  mellow 
He's  gone,  and  left  not  behind  him  his  fellow.' 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

Without  any  noise  when  I've  pass'd  o'er  the  stage, 
And  decently  acted  what  part  Fortune  gave. 
And  put  off  my  vest  in  a  cheerful  old  age. 
May  a  few-honest  fellows  see  me  laid  in  my  grave. 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

I  care  not  whether  under  a  turf  or  a  stone. 
With  any  inscription  upon  it,  or  none; 
If  a  thousand  years  hence.  Here  lies  W.  P. 
Shall  be  read  on  my  tomb,  what  is  it  to  me  ^ 
May  I  govern,  etc. 

Yet  one  wish  I  add,  for  the  sake  of  those  few 
Who  in  reading  these  lines  any  pleasure  shall  take, 
May  I  leave  a  good  fame,  and  a  sweet-smelling  name. 
AMEN.  Here  an  end  of  my  wishes  I  make. 
764 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Chorus.  May  I  govern  my  passion  with  an  absolute  sway, 

And  grow  wiser  and  better  as  my  strength  wears 

away, 
Without  gout  or  stone,  by  a  gentle  decay. 

•    Dr.   W.  Pope 


^12.  The  Change 

"POOR  River,  now  thou'rt  almost  dry, 

-'-        What  nymph,  or  swain,  will  near  thee  lie  ? 

Since  brought,  alas!  to  sad  decay, 

What  flocks,  or  herds,  will  near  thee  stay  ? 

The  swans,  that  sought  thee  in  thy  pride, 

Now  on  new  streams  forgetful  ride: 

And  fish,  that  in  thy  bosom  lay, 

Chuse  in  more  prosp'rous  floods  to  play. 

All  leave  thee,  now  thy  ebb  appears, 

To  waste  thy  sad  remains  in  tears; 

Now  will  thy  mournful  murmurs  heed. 

Fly,  wretched  stream,  with  all  thy  speed. 

Amongst  those  solid  rocks  thy  griefs  bestow; 

For  friends,  like  those  alas!  thou  ne'er  did'st  know. 

And  thou,  poor  sun!  that  sat'st  on  high; 
But  late,  the  splendour  of  the  sky; 
What  flow'r  tho'  by  thy  influence  born, 
Now  clouds  prevail,  will  tow'rds  thee  turn  ? 
Now  darkness  sits  upon  thy  brow. 
What  Persian  votary  will  bow  ? 
What  river  will  her  smiles  reflect, 
Now  that  no  beams  thou  can'st  direct.'' 

765 


THE  BOOK  OF 

By  wat'ry  vapours  overcast, 

Who  thinks  upon  thy  glories  past  ? 

If  present  light,  nor  heat  we  get. 

Unheeded  thou  may'st  rise,  and  set. 

Not  all  the  past  ean  one  adorer  keep, 

Fall,  wretched  sun,  to  the  more  faithful  deep. 

Nor  do  thou,  lofty  structure!  boast, 
Since  undermined  by  time  and  frost: 
Since  thou  canst  no  reception  give. 
In  untrod  meadows  thou  may'st  live. 
None  from  his  ready  road  will  turn. 
With  thee  thy  wretched  change  to  mourn. 
Not  the  soft  nights,  or  cheerful  days 
Thou  hast  bestowed,  can  give  thee  praise. 
No  lusty  tree  that  nears  thee  grows, 
(Tho'  it  beneath  thy  shelter  rose) 
Will  to  thy  age  a  staff  become. 
Fall,  wretched  building!  to  the  tomb. 
Thou,  and  thy  painted  roofs,  in  ruin  mixt, 
Fall  to  the  earth,  for  that  alone  is  fixt. 

The  same,  poor  man,  the  same  must  be 
Thy  fate,  nor  fortune  frowns  on  thee. 
Her  favour  ev'ry  one  pursues. 
And  losing  her,  thou  all  must  lose. 
No  love,  sown  in  thy  prosp'rous  days. 
Can  fruit  in  this  cold  season  raise: 
No  benefit,  by  thee  conferred. 
Can  in  this  time  of  storms  be  heard. 
All  from  thy  troubled  waters  run; 
Thy  stooping  fabric  all  men  shun. 
766 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

All  do  thy  clouded  looks  decline, 
As  if  thou  ne'er  did'st  on  them  shine. 
O  wretched  man!  to  other  worlds  repair; 
For  Faith  and  Gratitude  are  only  there. 

Anne,   Countess  of  Winchilsea 

^/j.  To   the  Evening  Star 

"DRIGHT  Star!  by  Venus  fixed  above 
■*-^     To  rule  the  happy  realms  of  love; 
Who  in  the  dewy  rear  of  day, 
Advancing  thy  distinguished  ray, 
Dost  other  lights  as  far  out-shine 
As  Cynthia's  silver  glories  thine; 
Known  by  superior  beauty  there, 
As  much  as  Pastorella  here. 
Exert,  bright  star,  thy  friendly  light, 
And  guide  me  through  the  dusky  night; 
Defrauded  of  her  beams,  the  Moon 
Shines  dim,  and  will  be  vanished  soon. 
I  would  not  rob  the  shepherd's  fold; 
I  seek  no  miser's  hoarded  gold; 
To  find  a  nymph,  I'm  forced  to  stray. 
Who  lately  stole  my  heart  away. 


G.  Stepney 


414.  A  Nocturnal  Reverie 

TN  such  a  night,  when  every  louder  wind 
^    Is  to  its  distant  cavern  safe  confined, 
And  only  gentle  Zephyr  fans  his  wings, 
And  lonely  Philomel,  still  waking,  sings. 


767 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Or  from  some  tree,  famed  for  the  owl's  delight, 
She,  hollowing  clear,  directs  the  wand'rer  right: 
In  such  a  night,  when  passing  clouds  give  place, 
Or  thinly  veil  the  heav'ns'  mysterious  face; 
When   in  some  river,  overhung  with  green, 
The  waving  moon  and  trembling  leaves  are  seen; 
When  freshened  grass  now  bears  itself  upright, 
And  makes  cool  banks  to  pleasing  rest  invite. 
Whence  springs  the  woodbine  and  the  bramble-rose, 
And  where  the  sleepy  cowslip  sheltered  grows; 
Whilst  now  a  paler  hue  the  foxglove  takes. 
Yet  chequers  still  with  red  the  dusky  brakes; 
When  scattered  glow-worms,  but  in  twilight  fine. 
Show  trivial  beauties  watch  their  hour  to  shine. 
Whilst  Salisb'ry  stands  the  test  of  every  light, 
In  perfect  charms  and  perfect  virtue  bright; 
When  odours  which  declined  repelling  day 
Through  temp'rate  air  uninterrupted  stray: 
When  darkened  groves  their  softest  shadows  wear. 
And  falling  waters  we  distinctly  hear; 
When  through  the  gloom  more  venerable  shows 
Som.e  ancient  fabric,  awful  in  repose; 
While  sunburnt  hills  their  swarthy  looks  conceal. 
And  swelling  haycocks  thicken  up  the  vale; 
When  the  loosed  horse  now,  as  his  pasture  leads, 
Comes  slowly  grazing  through  th'  adjoining  meads. 
Whose  stealing  pace  and  lengthened  shade  we  fear. 
Till  torn  up  forage  in  his  teeth  we  hear; 
When  nibbling  sheep  at  large  pursue  their  food, 
And  unmolested  kine  re-chew  the  cud; 
When  curlews  cry  beneath  the  village-walls. 
And  to  her  straggling  brood  the  partridge  calls; 
768 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Their  short-lived  jubilee  the  creatures  keep, 

Which  but  endures  whilst  tyrant-man  does  sleep; 

When  a  sedate  content  the  spirit  feels, 

And  no  fierce  light  disturb  whilst  it  reveals, 

But  silent  musings  urge  the  mind  to  seek 

Something,  too  high  for  syllables  to  speak. 

Till  the  free  soul,  to  a  composedness  charmed. 

Finding  the  elements  of  rage  disarmed, 

O'er  all  below  a  solemn  quiet  grown, 

Joys  in  th'  inferior  world  and  thinks  it  like  her  own: 

In  such  a  night  let  me  abroad  remain, 

Till  morning  breaks  and  all's  confused  again; 

Our  cares,  our  toils,  our  clamours,  are  renewed, 

Or  pleasures,  seldom  reached,  again  pursued. 

Anne,  Countess  of  Winchtlsea 

^75.  A  Hymn  for  Evening 

''  I  ^HE  beam-repelling  mists  arise, 

-■■       And  evening  spreads  obscurer  skies: 
The  twilight  will  the  night  forerun, 
And  night  itself  be  soon  begun. 
Upon  thy  knees  devoutly  bow. 
And  pray  the  Lord  of  glory  now 
To  fill  thy  breast,  or  deadly  sin 
May  cause  a  blinder  night  within. 
And  whether  pleasing  vapours  rise. 
Which  gently  dim  the  closing  eyes, 
Which  makes  the  weary  members  blest 
With  sweet  refreshment  in  their  rest, 
Or  whether  spirits  in  the  brain 
Dispel  their  soft  embrace  again. 

769 


THE  BOOK  OF 

And  on  my  watchful  bed  I  stay, 
Forsook  by  sleep,  and  waiting  day; 
Be  God  forever  in  my  view. 
And  never  he  forsake  me  too; 
But  still  as  day  concludes  in  night, 
To  break  again  with  new-born  light. 
His  wondrous  bountv  let  me  find 
With  still  a  more  enlightened  mind. 
When  grace  and  love  in  one  agree, 
Grace  from  God,  and"  love  from  me, 
Grace  that  will  from  Heaven  inspire, 
Love  that  seals  it  in  desire, 
Grace  and  love  that  mingle  beams, 
And  fill  me  with  increasing  flames. 
Thou  that  hast  thy  palace  far 
Above  the  moon  and  every  star, 
Thou  that  sittest  on  a  throne 
To  which  the  night  was  never  known. 
Regard  my  voice,  and  make  me  blest 
By  kindly  granting  its  request. 
If  thoughts  on  thee  my  soul  employ, 
My  darkness  will  afford  me  jov. 
Till  thou  shalt  call  and  I  shall  soar. 
And  part  with  darkness  evermore. 


T.  Parnci 


416.  A  Night-Piece  on  Death 

T)Y  the  blue  taper's  trembling  light, 
-*-^     No  more  I  waste  the  wakeful  night. 
Intent  with  endless  view  to  pore 
The  schoolmen  and  the  sages  o'er: 
770 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Their  books  from  wisdom  widely  stray. 
Or  point  at  best  the  longest  way. 
I'll  seek  a  readier  path,  and  go 
Where  wisdom's  surely  taught  below. 

How  deep  yon  azure  dyes  the  sky, 
Where  orbs  of  gold  unnumbered  lie, 
While  through  their  ranks  in  silver  pride 
The  nether  crescent  seems  to  glide! 
The  slumbering  breeze  forgets  to  breathe 
The  lake  is  smooth  and  clear  beneath. 
Where  once  again  the  spangled  show 
Descends  to  meet  our  eyes  below. 
The  grounds  which  on  the  right  aspire. 
In  dimness  from  the  view  retire: 
The  left  presents  a  place  of  graves. 
Whose  wall  the  silent  water  laves. 
That  steeple  guides  thy  doubtful  sight 
Among  the  livid  gleams  of  night. 
There  pass,  with  melancholy  state, 
By  all  the  solemn  heaps  of  fate, 
And  think,  as  softly-sad  you  tread 
Above  the  venerable  dead, 
'Time  was,  like  thee  they  life  possest. 
And  time  shall  be,  that  thou  shalt  rest.' 

Those  graves,  with  bending  osier  bound. 
That  nameless  heave  the  crumbled  ground 
Quick  to  the  glancing  thought  disclose, 
Where  toil  and  poverty  repose. 

The  flat  smooth  stones  that  bear  a  name. 
The  chisel's  slender  help  to  fame, 
(Which  ere  our  set  of  friends  decay 
Their  frequent  steps  may  wear  away,) 

771 


THE  BOOK  OF 

A  middle  race  of  mortals  own, 
Men,  half  ambitious,  all  imknown. 

The  marble  tombs  that  rise  on  high, 
Whose  dead  in  vaulted  arches  lie, 
Whose  pillars  swell  with  sculptured  stones, 
Arms,  angels,  epitaphs,  and  bones  , 
These,  all  the  poor  remains  of  state, 
Adorn  the  rich,  or  praise  the  great, 
Who,  while  on  earth  in  fame  they  live, 
Are  senseless  of  the  fame  they  give. 
Hah!  while  I  gaze,  pale  Cynthia  fades. 
The  bursting  earth  unveils  the  shades! 
All  slow,  and  wan,  and  wrapped  with  shrouds^ 
They  rise  in  visionary  crowds. 
And  all  with  sober  accents  cry, 
'Think,  mortal,  what  it  is  to  die.' 

Now  from  yon  black  and  funeral  yew, 
That  bathes  the  charnel-house  with  dew, 
Methinks  I  hear  a  voice  begin; 
(Ye  ravens,  cease  your  croaking  din; 
Ye  tolling  clocks,  no  time  resound 
O'er  the  long  lake  and  midnight  ground!) 
It  sends  a  peal  of  hollow  groans. 
Thus  speaking  from  among  the  bones. 

'When  men  my  scythe  and  darts  supply. 
How  great  a  king  of  fears  am  I ! 
They  view  me  like  the  last  of  things: 
They  make,  and  then  they  dread,  my  stings. 
Fools!  if  you  less  provoked  your  fears, 
No  more  my  spectre  form  appears. 
Death's  but  a  path  that  must  be  trod, 
If  man  would  ever  pass  to  God; 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

A  port  of  calms,  a  state  of  ease 
From  the  rough  rage  of  swelHng  seas. 

'Why  then  thy  flowing  sable  stoles, 
Deep  pendant  cypiess,  mourning  poles, 
Loose  scarfs  to  fall  athwart  thy  weeds, 
Long  palls,  drawn  hearses,  covered  steeds, 
And  plumes  of  black,  that,  as  they  tread, 
Nod  o'er  the  scutcheons  of  the  dead  ? 

'Nor  can  the  parted  body  know. 
Nor  wants  the  soul,  these  forms  of  woe 
As  men  who  long  in  prison  dwell, 
With  lamps  that  glimmer  round  the  cell, 
Whene'er  their  suff'ering  years  are  run, 
Spring  forth  to  greet  the  glittering  sun: 
Such  joy,  though  far  transcending  sense, 
Have  pious  souls  at  parting  hence. 
On  earth,  and  in  the  body  placed, 
A  few,  and  evil  years  they  waste; 
But  when  their  chains  are  cast  aside 
See  the  glad  scene  unfolding  wide, 
Clap  the  glad  wing,  and  tower  away, 
And  mingle  with  the  blaze  of  day.' 


T.  Parnell 


417.  On  the  Origin  of  Evil 

T^VIL,  if  rightly  understood, 
'-^  Is  but  the  Skeleton  of  Good, 
Divested  of  its  Flesh  and  Blood. 

773 


THE  BOOK  OF 

While  it  remains  without  Divorce, 

Within  its  hidden,  secret  Source 

It  is  the  Good's  own  Strength  and  Force. 

As  Bone  has  the  supporting  Share, 
In  human  Form  divinely  fair, 
Altho'  an  Evil  when  laid  bare; 

As  Light  and  Air  are  fed  by  Fire, 
A  shining  Good,  while  all  conspire, 
But  (separate)  dark,  raging  Ire; 

As  Hope  and  Love  arise  from  Faith, 
Which  then  admits  no  111,  nor  hath; 
But,  if  alone,  it  would  be  Wrath; 

Or  any  Instance  thought  upon, 
In  which  the  Evil  can  be  none, 
Till  Unity  of  Good  is  gone; 

So,  by  Abuse  of  Thought  and  skill 
The  greatest  Good,  to  wit,  Free-will, 
Becomes  the  Origin  of  111. 

Thus,  when  rebellious  Angels  fell, 

The  very  Heav'n  where  good  ones  dwell 

Became  th'  apostate  Spirits'  Hell. 

Seeking,  against  Eternal  Right, 
A  Force  with  a  Love  and  Light, 
They  found,  and  felt  its  Evil  Might. 


774 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thus  Adam,  biting  at  their  Bait 
Of  Good  and  Evil  when  he  ate, 
Died  to  his  first  three-happy  State; 

Fell  to  the  Evils  of  this  ball, 
Which,  in  harmonious  Union  all 
Were  Paradise  before  his  Fall; 

And,  when  the  Life  of  Christ  in  men 
Revives  its  faded  Image,  then 
Will  all  be  Paradise  again. 


/.  Byro 


<m 


Divine  Ode 


'T'^HE  spacious  firmament  on  high, 
-■-       With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 
And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 
1  heir  great  Original  proclaim. 
Th'  unwearied  Sun  from  day  to  day 
Does  his  Creator's  power  display; 
And  publishes  to  every  land 
The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 
The  Moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale; 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  Earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth: 
Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn. 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll, 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

775 


THE  BOOK  OF 

What  though  in  solemn  silence,  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball; 
What  though,  nor  real  voice  nor  sound 
Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found  ? 
In  Reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice; 
For  ever  singing  as  they  shine, 
'The  Hand  that  made  us  is  divine.' 

y.  Addi 


^ig.  A   Cradle  Hymn 

TTUSH!  my  dear,  lie  still  and  slumber, 
-*•  *■      Holy  angels  guard  thy  bed! 
Heavenly  blessings  without  number 
Gently  falling  on  thy  head. 

Sleep,  my  babe;  thy  food  and  raiment. 
House  and  home,  thy  friends  provide; 

All  without  thy  care  or  payment: 
All  thy  wants  are  well  supplied. 

How  much  better  thou'rt  attended 
Than  the  Son  of  God  could  be. 

When  from  heaven  He  descended 
And  became  a  child  like  thee! 

Soft  and  easy  is  thy  cradle: 

Coarse  and  hard  thy  Saviour  lay, 

When  His  birthplace  was  a  stable 

And  His  softest  bed  was  hay. 
776 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Blessed  babe!  what  glorious  features — 
Spotless  fair,  divinely  bright! 

Must  He  dwell  with  brutal  creatures  ? 
How  could  angels  bear  the  sight  ? 


Was  there  nothing  but  a  manger 

Cursed  sinners  could  afford 
To  receive  the  heavenly  stranger  ? 

Did  they  thus  affront  their  Lord  ? 

Soft,  my  child:  I  did  not  chide  thee, 

Though  my  song  might  sound  too  hard; 

'Tis  thy  mother  sits  beside  thee. 
And  her  arms  shall  be  thy  guard. 

Yet  to  read  the  shameful  story 

How  the  Jews  abused  their  King, 
How  they  served  the  Lord  of  Glory, 

Makes  me  angry  while  I  sing. 

See  the  kinder  shepherds  round  Him, 

Telling  wonders  from  the  sky! 
Where  they  sought  Him,  there  they  found  Him, 

With  His  Virgin  mother  by. 

See  the  lovely  babe  a-dressing; 

Lovely  infant,  how  he  smiled! 
When  he  wept,  the  mother's  blessing 

Soothed  and  hush'd  the  holy  child. 

in 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Lo,  He  slumbers  in  His  manger, 
Where  the  horned  oxen  fed; 

Peace,  my  darhng;  here's  no  danger, 
Here's' no  ox  anear  thy  bed. 

'Twas  to  save  thee,  child,  from  dying, 
Save  my  dear  from  burning  flame. 

Bitter  groans  and  endless  crying, 
That  thy  blest  Redeemer  came. 

May'st  thou  live  to  know  and  fear  Him, 
Trust  and  love  Him  all  thy  days; 

Then  go  dwell  for  ever  near  Him, 
See  His  face,  and  sing  His  praise! 


/.   JVatts 


420.  The   Universal  Prayer 

TI7ATHER  of  all!  in  every  age, 
-^        In  every  clime  adored. 
By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 
Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord! 

Thou  Great  First  Cause,  least  understood; 

Who  all  my  sense  confined 
To  know  but  this,  that  Thou  art  good, 

And  that  myself  am  blind; 

Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate, 

To  see  the  good  from  ill; 
And  binding  nature  fast  in  fate, 

Left  free  the  human  will. 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done, 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do, 
This,  teach  me  more  than  hell  to  shun, 

That,  more  than  Heaven  pursue. 


What  blessings  Thy  free  bounty  gives, 

Let  me  not  cast  awav; 
For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives, 

T'  enjoy  is  to  obey 

Yet  not  to  earth's  contracted  span 
Thy  goodness  let  me  bound, 

Or  think  Thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 
When  thousand  worlds  are  round: 

Let  not  the  weak,  unknowing  hand 
Presume  Thy  bolts  to  throw, 

And  deal  damnation  round  the  land, 
On  each  I  judge  Thy  foe. 

If  I  am  right,  Thy  grace  impart, 
Still  in  the  right  to  stay; 
'  I  am  wrong,  oh  1  teach  my  heart 
To  find  that  better  way. 


If 


Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride, 

Or  impious  discontent. 
At  aught  Thy  wisdom  has  denied, 

Or  aught  Thy  goodness  lent. 

779 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe, 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see; 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

Mean  though  I  am,  not  wholly  so, 
Since  quickened  by  Thy  breath; 

Oh,  lead  me  wheresoe'er  I  go. 
Through  this  day's  life  or  death. 

This  day,  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot, 

All  else  beneath  the  sun, 
Thou  know'st  if  best  bestowed  or  not. 

And  let  Thy  will  be  done. 

To  Thee,  whose  temple  is  all  space. 
Whose  altar  earth,  sea,  skies, 

One  chorus  let  all  beings  raise. 
All  nature's  incense  rise! 


A.  Pope 


421.  To  His  Soul 

Translated  from  the  Latin  of  Hadrian 

T300R  little,  pretty,  fluttering  thing, 
-*-  Must  we  no  longer  live  together  ? 
And  dost  thou  prune  thy  trembling  wing, 

To  take  thy  flight  thou  know'st  not  whither .'' 

780 


RESrORATION  VERSE 

Thy  humorous  vein,  thy  pleasing  folly, 

Lie  all  neglected,  all  forgot; 
And  pensive,  wavering,  melancholy, 

Thou  dread'st  and  hop'st  thou  know'st  not  what. 

M.  Prior 


/f22.    The  Dying  Christian  to  His  Soul 

"\  riTAL  spark  of  heav'nly  flame! 
*        Quit,  O  quit  this  mortal  frame: 

Trembling,  hoping,  ling'ring,  flying. 

Oh  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying! 
Cease,  fond  Nature,  cease  thy  strife, 
And  let  me  languish  into  life. 

Hark!  they  whisper;  angels  say, 

Sister  Spirit,  come  away! 

What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite  ? 

Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight. 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  ? 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes;  it  disappears! 
Heav'n  opens  on  my  eyes!  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring! 
Lend,  lend  your  wings!  I  mount!  I  fly! 
O  Grave!  where  is  thy  victory  ? 
O  Death!  where  is  thy  sting? 

A.  Pope 
781 


THE  BOOK  OF 

42^.  The  Day  of  Judgment 

\  1  THEN  the  fierce  North-wind  with  his  airy  forces 
*  '        Rears  up  the  Baltic  to  a  foaming  fury; 
And  the  red  Hghtning  with  a  storm  of  hail  comes 

Rushing  amain  down; 

How  the  poor  sailors  stand  amazed  and  tremble, 
While  the  hoarse  thunder,  like  a  bloody  trumpet, 
Roars  a  loud  onset  to  the  gaping  waters 

Quick  to  devour  them. 

Such  sliall  the  noise  he,  and  the  wild  disorder 
(If  things  eternal  may  be  like  these  earthly), 
Such  the  dire  terror  when  the  great  Archangel 

Shakes  the  creation; 

Tears  the  strong  pillars  of  the  vault  of  Heaven, 
Breaks  up  old  marble,  the  repose  of  princes. 
Sees  the  graves  open,  and  the  bones  arising, 

Flames  all  around  them. 

Hark,  the  shrill  outcries  of  the  guilty  wretches! 
Lively  bright  horror  and  amazing  anguish 
Stare  thro'  their  eyelids,  while  the  living  worm  lies 

Gnawing  within  them. 

Thoughts,  like  old  vultures,  prey  upon  their  heart-strings, 
And  the  smart  twinges,  when  the  eve  beholds  the 
Lofty  Judge  frowning,  and"  a  flood  of  vengeance 

Rolling  afore  him. 
782 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Hopeless  immortals!  how  they  scream  and  shiver, 
While  devils  push  them  to  the  pit  wide-yawing 
Hideous  and  gloomy,  to  receive  them  headlong 

Down  to  the  centre! 

Stop  here,  my  fancy:  (all  away,  ye  horrid 
Doleful  ideas!)  come,  arise  to  Jesus, 
How  He  sits  God-like!  and  the  saints  around  Him 

Throned,  yet  adoring! 

O  may  I  sit  there  when  He  comes  triumphant. 
Dooming  the  nations!  then  ascend  to  glory, 
While  our  Hosannas  all  along  the  passage 

Shout  the  Redeemer. 

/.   Watts 

424.  Verses 

Sent  by  Lord  Melcombe  to  Dr.   Young,  not 
long  before  His  Lordship's  Death 

T^  IND  companion  of  my  youth, 

-*-  *■     Lov'd  for  genius,  worth  and  truth! 

Take  what  friendship  can  impart, 

Tribute  of  a  feeling  heart; 

Take  the  Muse's  latest  spark, 

Ere  we  drop  into  the  dark. 

He,  who  parts  and  virtue  gave. 

Bade  thee  look  beyond  the  grave; 

Genius  soars,  and  virtue  guides, 

Where  the  love  of  God  presides. 

There's  a  gulf  'twixt  us  and  God; 

Let  the  gloomy  path  be  trod. 

783 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Why  stand  shivering  on  the  shore  ? 
Why  not  boldly  venture  o'er  ? 
Where  unerring  virtue  guides 
Let  us  brave  the  winds  and  tides; 
Safe,  thro'  seas  of  doubts  and  fears, 
Rides  the  bark  which  virtue  steers. 
Love  thy  country,  wish  it  well, 
Not  with  too  intense  a  care, 
'Tis  enough  that,  when  it  fell, 

Thou  its  ruin  didst  not  share. 
Envy's  censure,  Flattery's  praise. 

With  unmov'd  indifference  view; 
Learn  to  tread  Life's  dangerous  maze 

With  unerring  Virtue's  clue. 
Void  of  strong  desire  and  fear, 

Life's  wide  ocean  trust  no  more; 
Strive  thy  little  bark  to  steer 

With  the  tide,  but  near  the  shore. 
Thus  prepared,  thy  shorten'd  sail 

Shall,  whene'er  the  winds  increase, 
Seizing  each  propitious  gale. 

Waft  thee  to  the  Port  of  Peace. 
Keep  thy  conscience  from  offence 
And  tempestuous  passions  free, 
So,  when  thou  art  call'd  from  hence, 

Easy  shall  thy  passage  be; 
Easy  shall  thy  passage  be, 
Cheerful  thy  allotted  stay. 
Short  the  account  'twixt  God  and  thee, 
Hope  shall  meet  thee  on  the  way. 

G.  B.  Dodington,  Lord  Mckomhe 

784 


RESTORATION  VERSE 


■^25.       On   the  Death   of  tJie  Earl  of 


CadocKui 


(^\^  Marlborough's  captains,  and  Eugenio's  friends, 

^-^     The  last,  Cadogan,  to  the  grave  descends: 

Low  lies  each  hand,  whence  Blenheim's  glory  sprung, 

The  chiefs  who  conquer'd,  and  the  bards  who  sung, 

From  his  cold  corse  though  every  friend  be  fled, 

Lo!  Envy  waits,  that  lover  of  the  dead: 

Thus  did  she  feign  o'er  Nassau's  hearse  to  mourn; 

Thus  wept  insidious,  Churchill,  o'er  thy  urn; 

To  blast  the  living,  gave  the  dead  their  due. 

And  wreaths,  herself  had  tainted,  trimmed  anew; 

Thou,  yet  unnamed  to  fill  his  empty  place. 

And  lead  to  war  thy  country's  growing  race, 

Take  every  wish  a  British  heart  can  frame. 

Add  palm  to  palm,  and  rise  from  fame  to  fame. 

An  hour  must  come,  when  thou  shalt  hear  with  rage 
Thyself  traduced,  and  curse  a  thankless  a;'^e: 
Nor  yet  for  this  decline  the  generous  strife, 
These  ills,  brave  man,  shall  quit  thee  with  thy  life, 
Alive  though  stained  by  every  abject  slave, 
Secure  of  fame  and  justice  in  the  grave. 

Ah!  no when  once  the  mortal  yields  to  Fate, 

The  blast  of  Fame's  sweet  trumpet  sounds  too  late, 

Too  late  to  stay  the  spirit  on  its  flight, 

Or  soothe  the  new  inhabitant  of  light; 

Who  hears  regardless,  while  fond  man,  distress'd. 

Hangs  on  the  absent,  and  laments  the  blest. 

Farewell  then  Fame,  ill  sought  thro'  fields  and  blood. 
Farewell  unfaithful  promiser  of  good: 

785 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Thou  music,  warbling  to  the  deafen'd  ear! 
Thou  incense  wasted  on  the  funeral  bier! 
Through  life  pursued  in  vain,  by  death  obtained, 
When  asked  deny'd  us,  and  when  given  disdained. 

r.  Tickell 


^26.  To   the  Earl  of  Warwick 

on  the  Death  of  Mr.  Addison 


T  F,  dumb  too  long,  the  drooping  Muse  hath  stay'd, 
-*    And  left  her  debt  to  Addison  unpaid, 
Blame  not  her  silence,  Warwick,  but  bemoan. 
And  judge.  Oh  judge,  my  bosom  by  your  own. 
What  mourner  ever  felt  poetic  fires  ? 
Slow  comes  the  verse  that  real  woe  inspires: 
Grief  unaffected  suits  but  ill  with  art, 
Or  flowing  numbers  with  a  bleeding  heart. 
Can  I  forget  the  dismal  night  that  gave 
My  soul's  best  part  for  ever  to  the  grave  ? 
How  silent  did  his  old  companions  tread. 
By  midnight  lamps,  the  mansions  of  the  dead. 
Through  breathing  statues,  then  unheeded  things. 
Through  rows  of  warriors,  and  through  walks  of  kings. 
What  awe  did  the  slow  solemn  knell  inspire; 
The  pealing  organ,  and  the  pausing  choir; 
The  duties  by  the  lawn-robed  prelate  pay'd. 
And  the  last  words  that  dust  to  dust  convey'd. 
While  speechless  o'er  thy  closing  grave  wc  bend, 
Accept  these  tears,  thou  dear  departed  friend. 
786 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Oh,  gone  forever,  take  this  long  adieu. 
And  sleep  in  peace,  next  thy  loved  Montague. 
To  strew  fresh  laurels,  let  the  task  be  mine, 
A  frequent  pilgrim  at  thy  sacred  shrine; 
Mine  with  true  sighs  thy  absence  to  bemoan, 
And  grave  with  faithful  epitaphs  thy  stone. 
If  e'er  from  me  thy  loved  memorial  part, 
May  shame  afflict  this  alienated  heart; 
Of  thee  forgetful  if  I  form  a  song. 
My  lyre  be  broken,  and  untuned  my  tongue; 
My  grief  be  doubled  from  thy  image  free. 
And  mirth  a  torment,  unchastised  by  thee. 

Oft  let  me  range  the  gloomy  aisles  alone, 
Sad  luxury!  to  vulgar  minds  unknown — 
Along  the  walls  where  speaking  marbles  show 
What  worthies  form  the  hallow'd  mould  below; 
Proud  names,  who  once  the  reins  of  empire  held; 
In  arms  who  triumph'd,  or  in  arts  excell'd; 
Chiefs,  graced  with  scars,  and  prodigal  of  blood, 
Stern  patriots  who  for  sacred  freedom  stood; 
just  men,  by  whom  impartial  laws  were  given. 
And  saints  who  taught,  and  led  the  way  to  Heaven. 
Ne'er  to  these  chambers  where  the  mighty  rest. 
Since  their  foundation,  came  a  nobler  guest; 
Nor  e'er  was  to  the  bowers  of  bliss  convey'd 
A  fairer  spirit  or  more  welcome  shade. 

In  what  new  region,  to  the  just  assign'd. 
What  new  employments  please  th'  unbody'd  mind? 
A  winged  Virtue  through  th'  ethereal  sky 
From  world  to  world  unweary'd  does  he  fly } 
Or  curious  trace  the  long  laborious  maze 
Of  Heaven's  decrees,  where  wondering  angels  gaze  ? 

787 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Does  he  delight  to  hear  bold  seraphs  tell 
How  Michael  battled,  and  the  dragon  fell; 
Or  mixed,  with  milder  cherubim,. to  glow 
In  hymns  of  love,  not  ill  essay'd  below  ? 
Or  dost  thou  warn  poor  mortals  left  behind, 
A  task  well  suited  to  thy  gentle  mind  ? 
Oh !  if  sometimes  thy  spotless  form  descend, 
To  me,  thy  aid,  thou  guardian  genius,  lend! 
When  rage  misguides  me,  or  when  fear  alarms. 
When  pain  distresses,  or  when  pleasure  charms, 
In  silent  whisperings  purer  thoughts  impart. 
And  turn  from  ill  a  frail  and  feeble  heart. 
Lead  through  the  paths  thy  virtue  trod  before, 
Till  bliss  shall  join,  nor  death  can  part  us  more. 

That  awtul  form,  which,  so  the  Heavens  decree, 
Must  still  be  loved  and  still  deplored  by  me; 
In  nightly  visions  seldom  fails  to  rise. 
Or,  roused  by  Fancy,  meets  my  waking  eyes. 
If  business  calls,  or  crowded  courts  invite, 
Th'  unbk-mish'd  statesman  seems  to  strike  my  sight; 
If  in  the  stage  I  seek  to  soothe  my  care, 
I  meet  his  soul  which  breathes  in  Cato  there; 
If  pensive  to  the  rural  shades  I  rove. 
His  shape  o'ertakes  me  in  the  lonely  grove; 
'Twas  there  of  just  and  good  he  reasoned  strong, 
Cleared  some  great  truth,  or  raised  some  serious  song: 
There  patient  showed  us  the  wise  course  to  steer, 
A  candid  censor,  and  a  friend  severe; 
There  taught  us  how  to  live,  and  (oh!  too  high 
The  price  for  knowledge)  taught  us  how  to  die. 

Thou  Hill,  whose  brow  the  antique  structures  grace, 
Reared  by  bold  chiefs  of  Warwick's  noble  race, 
788 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Why,  once  so  loved,  whene'er  thy  bower  appears, 

O'er  my  dim  eyeballs  glance  the  sudden  tears! 

How  sweet  were  once  thy  prospects  fresh  and  fair, 

Thy  sloping  walks,  and  unpolluted  air. 

How  sweet  the  glooms  beneath  thy  aged  trees. 

Thy  noontide  shadow,  and  thy  evening  breeze. 

His  image  thy  forsaken  bowers  restore; 

Thy  walks  and  airy  prospects  charm  no  more; 

No  more  the  summer  in  thy  glooms  allay'd. 

Thy  evening  breezes,  and  thy  noonday  shade. 

From  other  hills,  however  Fortune  frown'd, 
Some  refuge  in  the  Muse's  art  I  found; 
Reluctant  now  I  touch  the  trembling  string, 
Bereft  of  him  who  taught  me  how  to  sing; 
And  these  sad  accents,  murmured  o'er  his  urn, 
Betray  that  absence,  they  attempt  to  mourn. 
O!  must  I  then  (now  fresh  my  bosom  bleeds, 
And  Craggs  in  death  to  Addison  succeeds) 
The  verse,  begun  to  one  lost  friend,  prolong. 
And  weep  a  second  in  th'  unfinish'd  song! 

These  works  divine,  which,  on  his  death-bed  laid 
To  thee,  O  Craggs,  th'  expiring  sage  convey'd, 
Great,  but  ill-omened,  monument  of  fame. 
Nor  he  survived  to  give,  nor  thou  to  claim. 
Swift  after  him  thy  social  spirit  flies. 
And  close  to  his,  how  soon!  thy  coffin  lies. 
Blest  pair!  whose  union  future  bards  shall  tell 
In  future  tongues:  each  other's  boast!  farewell. 
Farewell!  whom  joined  in  fame,  in  friendship  tried, 
No  chance  could  sever,  nor  the  grave  divide. 

r.  rickeii 


789 


THE  BOOK  OF 

^27.        Elegy   to   the  Memory   of  an 
Unfortunate  Lady 

"11  THAT  beck'ning  ghost,  along  the  moonlight  shade 

*  *       Invites  my  steps,  and  points  to  yonder  glade  ? 
'Tis  she! — but  why  that  bleeding  bosom  gored, 
Why  dimly  gleams  the  visionary  sv^'ord  ? 
O,  ever  beauteous,  ever  friendly!  tell 
Is  it,  in  Heav'n,  a  crime  to  love  too  well? 
To  bear  too  tender,  or  too  firm  a  heart, 
To  act  a  lover's  or  a  Roman's  part  ? 
Is  there  no  bright  reversion  in  the  sky 
For  those  who  greatly  think,  or  bravely  die  ? 

Why  bade  ye  else,  ye  Pow'rs!  her  soul  aspire 
Above  the  vulgar  flight  of  low  desire  ? 
Ambition  first  sprung  from  your  blest  abodes; 
The  glorious  fault  of  angels  and  of  gods; 
Thence  to  their  images  on  earth  it  flows. 
And  on  the  breasts  of  king  and  heroes  glows. 
Most  souls,  'tis  true,  but  peep  out  once  an  age, 
Dull  sullen  pris'ners  in  the  body's  cage: 
Dim  lights  of  life,  that  burn  a  length  of  years, 
Useless,  unseen,  as  lamps  in  sepulchres; 
Like  Eastern  kings  a  lazy  state  they  keep, 
And  close  confined  to  their  own  palace,  sleep. 

From  these  perhaps  (ere  Nature  bade  her  die) 
Fate  snatched  her  early  to  the  pitying  sky. 
As  into  air  the  purer  spirits  flow. 
And  sep'rate  from  their  kindred  dregs  below, 
So  flew  the  soul  to  its  congenial  place. 
Nor  left  one  virtue  to  redeem  her  race. 

But  thou,  false  guardian  of  a  charge  too  good! 
790 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

Thou,  mean  deserter  of  thy  brother's  blood! 
See  on  these  ruby  Hps  the  trembhng  breath, 
These  cheeks  now  fading  at  the  blast  of  Death: 
Cold  is  that  breast  which  warm'd  the  world  before, 
And  those  love-darting  eyes  must  roll  no  more. 
Thus,  if  eternal  justice  rules  the  ball. 
Thus  shall  your  wives,  and  thus  your  children  fall; 
On  all  the  line  a  sudden  vengeance  waits. 
And  frequent  herses  shall  besiege  your  gates. 
There  passengers  shall  stand,  and  pointing  say 
(While  the  long  fun'rals  blacken  all  the  way), 
'Lo!  these  were  they  whose  souls  the  Furies  steel'd 
And  cursed  with  hearts  unknowing  how  to  yield.' 
Thus  unlamented  pass  the  proud  away. 
The  gaze  of  fools,  and  pageant  of  a  day! 
So  perish  all,  whose  breast  ne'er  learn'd  to  glow 
For  others'  good,  or  melt  at  other's  woe! 

What  can  atone  (O  ever-injured  shade!) 
Thy  fate  unpitied,  and  thy  rites  unpaid  ? 
No  friend's  complaint,  no  kind  domestic  tear 
Pleased  thy  pale  ghost,  or  graced  thy  mournful  bier. 
By  foreign  hands  thy  dying  eyes  were  closed, 
By  foreign  hands  thy  decent  limbs  composed, 
B\'  foreign  hands  thy  humble  grave  adorn'd, 
By  strangers  honour'd,  and  by  strangers  mourn'd! 
What  tho'  no  friends  in  sable  weeds  appear. 
Grieve  for  an  hour,  perhaps,  then  mourn  a  year, 
And  bear  about  the  mockery  of  woe 
To  midnight  dances,  and  the  public  show  ? 
What  tho'  no  weeping  Loves  thy  ashes  grace, 
Nor  polish'd  marble  emulate  thy  face  ^ 
What  tho'  no  sacred  earth  allow  thee  room, 

791 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Nor  hallow'd  dirge  be  mutter'd  o'er  thy  tomb  ? 
Yet  shall  thy  grave  with  rising  flow'rs  be  drest, 
And  the  green  turf  lie  lightly  on  thy  breast: 
There  shall  the  morn  her  earliest  tears  bestow, 
There  the  first  roses  of  the  year  shall  blow; 
While  angels  with  their  silver  wings  o'ershade 
The  ground,  now  sacred  by  thy  reliques  made. 

So  peaceful  rests,  without  a  stone,  a  name, 
What  once  had  beauty,  titles,  wealth,  and  fame. 
How  loved,  how  honour'd  once,  avails  thee  not, 
To  whom  related,  or  by  whom  begot; 
A  heap  of  dust  alone  remains  of  thee, 
'Tis  all  thou  art,  and  all  the  proud  shall  be! 

Poets  themselves  must  fall,  like  those  they  sung, 
Deaf  the  praised  ear,  and  mute  the  tuneful  tongue. 
Ev'n  he,  whose  soul  now  melts  in  mournful  lays. 
Shall  shortly  want  the  gen'rous  tear  he  pays; 
Then  from  his  closing  eyes  thy  form  shall  part^ 
And  the  last  pang  shall  tear  thee  from  his  heart; 
Life's  idle  business  at  one  gasp  be  o'er. 
The  Muse  forgot,  and  thou  be  loved  no  more! 

J.  Pope 


428.  My  Own  Epitaph 

T    IFE  is  a  jest,  and  all  things  show  it. 
-*— '     I  thought  so  once,  but  now  I  know  it. 

J.  Gay 


792 


RESTORATION  VERSE 
42g.  For  My   Own  Monument 

A  S  doctors  give  physic  by  way  of  prevention, 
•*■  *-     Mat,  alive  and  in  health,  of  his  tombstone  took  care; 
For  delays  are  unsafe,  and  his  pious  intention 
May  haply  be  never  fulfill'd  by  his  heir. 

Then  take  Mat's  word  for  it,  the  sculptor  is  paid; 

That  the  figure  is  fine,  pray  believe  your  own  eye; 
Yet  credit  but  lightly  what  more  may  be  said, 

For  we  flatter  ourselves,  and  teach  marble  to  lie. 

Yet,  counting  as  far  as  to  fifty  his  years. 

His  virtues  and  vices  were  as  otlier  men's  are; 

High  hopes  he  conceived,  and  he  smother'd  great  fears, 
In  a  life  parti-colour'd,  half  pleasure,  half  care. 

Nor  to  business  a  drudge,  nor  to  faction  a  slave. 
He  strove  to  make  interest  and  freedom  agree; 

In  public  employments  industrious  and  grave. 

And  alone  with  his  friends.  Lord!  how  merry  was  he! 

Now  in  equipage  stately,  now  humbly  on  foot. 

Both  fortunes  he  tried,  but  to  neither  would  trust; 

And  whirl'd  in  the  round  as  the  wheel  turn'd  about. 

He  found  riches  had  wings,  and  knew  man  was  but  dust. 

This  verse,  little  polish'd,  tho'  mighty  sincere, 

Sets  neither  his  titles  nor  merit  to  view; 
It  says  that  his  relics  collected  lie  here. 

And  no  mortal  yet  knows  too  if  this  may  be  true. 

793 


THE  BOOK  OF 

Fierce  robbers  there  are  that  infest  the  highway, 
So  Mat  may  be  kill'd,  and  his  bones  never  found; 

False  witness  at  cour  ,  and  fierce  tempests  at  sea,  - 
So  Mat  may  yet  chance  to  be  hang'd  or  be  drown'd. 

If  his  bones  lie  in  earth,  roll  in  sea,  fly  in  air, 

Fo  Fate  we  must  yield,  and  the  thing  is  the  same; 

And  if  passing  thou  giv'st  him  a  smile  or  a  tear. 
He  cares  not — yet,  prithee,  be  kind  to  his  fame. 

M.  Prior 


4^0.  Life's  Progress 

T  TOW  gaily  is  at  first  begun 
*-  -■-      Our  Life's  uncertain  race: 
Whilst  yet  that  sprightly  morning  sun, 
With  which  we  just  set  out  to  run 
Enlightens  all  the  place. 

How  smiling  the  world's  prospect  lies 

How  tempting  to  go  through; 
Not  Canaan  to  the  prophet's  eyes. 
From  Pisgah  with  a  sweet  surprise. 
Did  more  inviting  shew. 

How  promising's  the  Book  of  Fate, 

Til!  thoroughly  understood; 
Whilst  partial  hopes  such  lots  create, 
As  m^ay  the  youthful  fancy  treat 
With  all  that's  great  and  good. 
794 


RESTORATION  VERSE 

How  soft  the  first  Ideas  prove, 

Which  wander  through  our  minds; 
How  full  the  joys,  how  free  the  love. 
Which  does  that  early  season  move; 
As  flowers  the  western  winds. 


Our  sighs  are  then  but  vernal  air; 

But  April-drops  our  tears. 
Which  swiftly  passing,  all  grows  fair, 
Whilst  Beauty  compensates  our  care, 

And  youth  each  vapour  clears. 


But  oh!  too  soon,  alas,  we  climb; 

Scarce  feeling  we  ascend 
The  gently  rising  Hill  of  Time, 
From  whence  with  grief  we  see  that  prime, 

And  all  its  sweetness  end. 


The  die  now  cast,  our  station  known. 

Fond  expectation  past; 
The  thorns,  which  former  days  had  sown, 
To  crops  of  late  repentance  grown. 

Thro'  which  we  toil  at  last. 


Whilst  every  care's  a  driving  harm. 

That  helps  to  bear  us  down; 
Which  faded  smiles  no  more  can  charm. 
But  every  tear's  a  winter  storm, 

And  every  look's  a  frown. 

795 


THE  BOOK  OF  RESTORATION  VERSE 

Till  with  succeeding  ills  opprest, 

For  joys  we  hoped  to  find; 
By  age  too,  rumpled  and  undrest, 
We  gladly  sinking  down  to  rest, 

Leave  following  crowds  behind. 

Anne,  Countess  of  fVinchilsea 


796 


NOTES 


Page  13,  No.  8 — Come,  come;  mvay!  the  spring.  From  A  Jovial  Crew:  or 
The  Merry  Beggars,  act  i.,  1652. 

Page  16,  No.  10 — Luxurious  mart,  to  bring  his  vice  in  use.  Marvel  of  Peru: 
Mirabilia  Peruviana,  or  Admirabilis  jJanta. 

Page  19,  No.  12 — Queen  Mab  and  all  her  Fairy  fry.  Tlie  text  here  given  is 
that  of  the  Golden  Treasury  edition  of  Selections  from  the  worlcs  of  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Newcastle,  edited  by  Edward  Jenkins,  1872. 

Page  23,  No.  14 — O  Nightingale,  that  on  yon  bloomy  spray.  Jolly:  used  in 
the  sense  of,  and  from,  the  French  joli,  meaning  gay,  blithe,  pleasing. 

Page  30,  No.  18 — Love  in  thy  youth,  fair  maid;  be  wise.  From  Madrigales 
and  Ayres,  1632. 

Page  32,  No.  20 — Come,  little  infant,  love  me  now.  Common  beauties  stay 
fifteen:  i.  e.  "stay  till  fifteen  before  they  are  loved"  (Aitken).  That  ill  prevent: 
to  anticipate  it. 

Page  35,  No.  22 — We  must  not  part  as  others  do.  From  the  Egerton  MS., 
2013,  printed  by  Dr.  Arber  in  his  English  Garner,  vol.  111.  p.  396. 

Page  39,  No.  27 — Your  smiles  are  not,  as  other  women's  be.  First  printed  by 
Mr.  BuUen  in  his  Speculum  Amantis,  1889,  from  Malone  MS.  13,  fol.  53. 

Page  42,  No.  29 — See'st  not,  my  love,  with  what  a  grace.  From  Arcadius  and 
Sephra,  Bk.  II.,  in  the  Story  of  Deliihason  and  Verista. 

Page  43,  No.  30 — Come,  come,  thou  glorious  object  of  my  sight.  From  Selindra, 
act  iii,  1665. 

Page  45,  No.  31 — Skin  more  pure  than  Ida's  snow.  From  the  English  Gentle- 
woman, 1631. 

Page  46,  No.  33 — .iwake,  awake  my  Lyre.  From  Davideis,  a  Sacred  Poem  of 
the  Troubles  of  David,  Bk.  Ill,  1668. 

Page  49,  No.  36 — Come,  be  my  valentine.  First  printed  by  Mr.  Bulien  in  his 
Speculum  Amantis,  from  Harl.  MS.,  4955,  fol.  146. 

Page  58,  No.  43 — Nature's  confectioner,  the  bee.  The  familiar:  a  spirit  or 
god  of  the  household  among  the  heathens.  Ravaillac:  a.ssassin  of  Henry  of 
Navarre.  Parricide:  from  parricidium,  in  the  Ciceronian  sense  of  treason, 
rebellion.     (Berdan). 

797 


NOTES 


Page  61,  No.  44 — Greedy  lover,  pause  awhile.  From  Wilson's  Cheerfttl 
Ayres  or  Ballads,  1660. 

Page  62,  No.  45 — Since  'lis  my  doom,  Love's  under shrieve.  Rebated  foins: 
sham  combat  with  blunted  swords.  Julian  were  Ihe  account  of  man:  The  Julian 
Account  refers  to  the  calendar  as  ordained  by  Julius  Ca;sar  B.  C.  44,  which  later 
was  corrected  in  1582,  by  Pope  Gregory  the  Thirteenth.  Pclops:  son  of  Tan- 
talus, king  of  Syria,  who  was  killed  by  his  father  and  served  at  a  banquet  of  the 
gods  of  which  Ceres  alone  ate  of  the  dish.  Zeus  restored  him  to  life,  replacing 
with  ivory  one  shoulder  which  Ceres  had  eaten.  Moves  Ihe  Bcthesda  of  her 
trickling  eyes:  Cf.  St.  John,  v,  2:  "Now  there  is  at  Jerusalem  by  the  market  a 
pool,  which  is  called  in  the  Hebrew  tongue  Bethesda,  having  five  torches." 

Page  66,  No.  47 — When  on  mine  eyes  her  eyes  first  shone.  From  Wilson's 
Cheerful  Ayres  or  Ballads,  1660. 

Page  68,  No.  50 — What  makes  me  so  unnimhly  rise.  From  Albion's  Triumph, 
a  Masque,  1631-2. 

Page  74,  No.  57 — Nor  Love  nor  Fate  dare  I  accuse.  From  The  Norihcrn 
Lass,  act  ii,  sc.  6,  1632. 

Page  78,  No.  62 — /  mw  a  vision  yesternight.  .4  Seeker's:  The  Seekers  a  sect 
that  sought  for  the  true  religion.  Shaker:  "A  punning  conceits  upon  the  names 
of  the  various  religious  sects  of  the  time."  (Berdan).  The  society  of  Shakers 
.such  as  Mr.  Howells  describes  in  his  novels  The  Undiscovered  Country,  and  in 
The  Day  of  Their  Wedding,  was  not  established  in  Cleveland's  time.  Adamites: 
another  religious  sect  of  the  day  wlio  emulated  like  Bhike,  in  the  story  that  w.as 
reported  of  him,  the  attempt  to  imitate  Adam  by  doing  without  clothes.  Abbess 
of  the  skies:  Juno.  Second  venter:  "There  were  three  venters  in  the  anatomy, 
the  second  of  which  is  the  breast.  Her  speech  is,  then,  a  kiss  of  the  heart." 
(Berdan). 

Page  89,  No.  61— See,  O  see!  From  Elvira,  1667. 

Page  92,  No.  69 — Still  young  and  fine!  but  what  is  still  in  view.  The  object 
of  his  eye:  Ci.  Gen.  ix,  16,  "And  the  bow  shall  be  in  the  cloud;  and  I  will  look 
upon  it,  that  I  may  remember  the  everlasting  covenant  between  God  and  every 
living  creature  of  all  flesh  that  is  upon  the  earth." 

Page  97,  No.  73 — Lady  that  in  the  prime  of  earliest  youth.  The  broad  way 
and  the  green:  Cf.  Matthew  vii,  13,  14,  "Broad  is  the  way,  that  leadeth  to  des- 
truction .  .  .  and  narrow  is  the  way,  which  leadeth  unto  life."  Hope  that 
reaps  not  shame:  Cf.  Romans,  v,  5,  "And  hope  that  maketh  not  ashamed." 

Page  98,  No.  74 — How  soon  hath  Time  the  sutlle  thee f  of  youth.  Written  on 
his  birthday  Dec.  9,  1631.  See  Masson's  Life  of  Milton,  vol.  I,  p.  289.  Perhaps 
my  semblance:  an  allusion  to  his  youthful  appearance  in  manhood.  It  shall  be 
still  in  strictest  measure  eev'n:  MUton's  assurance  of  his  intention  to  be  a  great 
poet.  "Here  we  have  a  solemn  record  of  self-dedication,  without  specification 
of  the  nature  of  the  performance."     (Pattison,  Milton's  Sonnets,  p.  98). 

Page  99,  No.  75 — Philosophy  the  great  and  only  heir.  This  poem  first 
appeared  prefi.xed  to  Bishop  Sprat's  The  History  of  the  Royal  Society  of  London, 
for  the  Improving  of  Natural  Knou'lcdge,  1667.  "It  is  nothing  less,"  says 
Archbishop  Trench,  "than  the  first  book  of  the  Novum  Organum  transfigured 
into  poetry. 


798 


NOTES 


Page  108,  No.  77 — Cromwell,  our  cheif  of  men,  who  through  a  cloud.  On  the 
proposalls  of  certaine  ministers  at  the  Committe  for  Propagation  of  the  Gospell: 
"The  committee  for  the  propagation  of  tlie  gospel  was  a  committee  of  the  Rump 
Parliarnent.  It  consisted  of  fourteen  members,  and  had  general  administrative 
duties  in  church  affairs,  specially  that  of  supplying  spiritual  destitution  in  the 
parishes.  The  proposals  of  certain  ministers  were  fifteen  proposals  offered  to 
the  committee  by  John  Owen,  and  other  well-known  ministers,  in  which  they 
asked  that  the  preachers  should  receive  a  public  maintenance."  (Pattison).  On 
Ike  n-eck:  a  Biblical  phrase  commonly  used  in  the  speech  of  the  day.  Cf .  Gen.  xHx, 
8,  "Thy  hand  shall  be  in  the  neck  of  thine  enemies;"  and  Joshua,  x,  24,  "Come 
near,  and  put  your  feet  upon  the  necks  of  these  kings."  Darken  stream:  a 
stream  flowing  near  Preston,  where  occurred  Cromwell's  defeat  of  the  Scotch, 
August  17,  1648.  Dunbar  f did:  where  Cromwell  on  September  3,  1650,  routed 
the  Scottish  army  under  Leslie.  Worster:  Worcester,  where  on  September  3, 
1651,  Cromwell  defeated  Charles  and  won  his  crowning  victory. 

Page  108,  No.  78 — The  forward  youth  that  would  appear.  On  January  8, 
1650,  Cromwell  was  recalled  from  Ireland,  to  serve  in  Scotland.  He  returned  to 
England  in  May  after  the  fall  of  Clonmel,  and  succeeded  Lord  Fairfax  as  Com- 
mander-in-Chief when  he  resigned  his  commission  in  June.  And  like  the  three- 
forked  lightning  .  .  .  fiery  way  divide:  own  side,  i.  e.  his  own  party.  This 
"stanza  and  the  following  Aitken  says  in  his  edition  of  Marvell,  Muses'  Library, 
p.  216:  "These  stanzas  may  refer  to  Cromwell's  quarrel  with  Manchester,  or  to 
his  leadership  of  the  army,  in  the  struggle  with  the  Presbyterian  party  in  1647. 
The  meaning  seems  to  be:  Restless  Cromwell  .  .  .  first  broke  his  fiery  way 
tlirough  his  own  party;  for  to  ambition  (courage  high)  rivals  and  enemies  are  the 
same,  and  with  ambitious  men  (such)  to  restrain  their  energies  is  more  than  to 
oppose  them."  That  Charles  himself  might  chase  to  Caresbrooke's  narrow 
case:  In  November,  1647,  Charles  fled  from  Hampton  Court  to  Carisbrooke, 
which  Lilburn  calls  the  "mouse-trap"  into  which  Cromwell  lure^  the  king. 
Tliis  was  the  memorable  hour  .  .  .  capital's  first  line  foresaw  its  happy  fate: 
The  allusion  in  these  two  stanzas  is  to  the  tradition  recorded  in  Livy  i,  55:  .'\t  the 
digging  of  the  foundation  of  the  Capitol  at  Rome  a  human  head  is  reported  to 
have  been  found,  which  was  at  once  accepted  as  an  augury  that  Rome  should  be 
the  head  of  the  world,  and  gave  a  name  to  the  temple  (capitolium  from  caput) 
which  was  being  reared.  The  public  skirt:  in  taking  hold  of  the  skirt  was  to 
place  one's  self  under  the  protection  of  the  wearer.  Cf.  Zechariah,  viii,  23: 
"Even  shall  take  hold  of  the  skirt  of  him  that  is  a  Jew,  saying,  We  will  go  with 
you:  for  we  have  heard  that  God  is  with  you;"  and  I  Samuel  xv,  27:  "Heiaid  hold 
of  the  skirt  of  his  mantle." 

Page  119,  No.  82 — Daughter  to  that  good  Earl,  once  President.  Margaret  Ley 
was  daughter  of  Sir  James  Ley  (1552-16291,  Lord  High  Treasurer  (1622),  and 
Lord  President  of  the  council  (1628),  in  which  year  he  was  created  Earl  of  Marl- 
borough. Dishonest:  the  word  is  here  used  in  the  sense  of  the  Latin  inhonestus. 
Chaeronea:  where  the  combined  forces  of  Thebes  and  Athens  were  destroyed  by 
Philip  of  Macedon,  B.  C.  338.  Killed  with  report  that  Old  man  eloquent:  Iso- 
crates,  the  Athenian  orator  died  four  days  after  the  disaster  of  Chaeronea;  and  as 
Ley  died  four  days  after  the  dissolution  of  Parliament,  Milton  makes  a  poetical 
comparison  between  the  fate  of  the  two  men. 

Page  120,  No.  84 — Cyriack,  whose  Grandsire  on  the  Royal  Bench.  Skinner's 
grandsire  was  Sir  Edward  Coke,  author  of  several  legal  treatises  of  the  Laws  of 
England  of  which  the  best  known  are  the  Institutes,  in  four  parts,  and  the  Re- 
ports, in  thirteen  volumes.  Tliemtis:  goddess  of  justice.  Let  Euclid  rest,  and 
Archimedes  pause:  Skinner  was  a  student  of  mathematics  and  a  novice  in  politics. 
What  the  Swede  intend,  and  what  the  French:  "Skinner's  interests,"  says  Pattison, 
"are  indicated  as  divided  between  foreign  politics  and  mathematics;  "  the  allusion 

799 


NOTES 


in  this  line  is  to  Charles  X  of  Sweden  who  at  that  time  was  at  war  with  Poland 
and  Russia,  and  the  conquest  of  the  Spanish  in  the  Netherlands  by  Louis  XIV. 

Page  119,  No.  83 — Lawrence  of  verluous  father  verluous  son.  The  Lawrence 
to  whom  this  sonnet  is  addressed  is  one  of  the  sons,  presumably  the  second, 
Henry  (Masson),  of  Henry  Lawrence,  President  of  Cromwell's  Council,  1654. 
Favonius:  the  south-west  wind  which  ushers  in  the  spring.  What  neat  repast 
.  .  .  Tuscan  ayrc:  These  lines  are  a  description  of  Milton's  domestic  life, as  Pat- 
tison  has  recorded  it  in  Tin-  Sounds  of  John  Milton,  p.  210:  "Milton  commonly 
studied  till  twelve,  then  used  some  exercise  for  an  hour,  then  dined.  After  dinner 
came  music,  when  he  either  sung  himself  or  made  his  wife  sing,  to  accompany 
him  on  the  organ  or  bass  viol.  After  music  he  studied  again  till  six;  then  en- 
tertained his  visitors  till  eight,  when  came  a  light  supper.  In  his  diet  he  was 
temperate,  desiring  it  light  and  choice.  Of  wine  he  drank  little;  but  after  a  pipe 
of  tobacco  and  a  glass  of  water  retired  to  bed  at  nine.' ' 

Page  120,  No.  85 — Vast  bodies  of  philosophy.  Stagirite:  Aristotle,  so 
called  from  the  town  of  Stagira,  where  he  was  born,  situated  near  the  Bay  of 
Strimon  in  Macedonia.  Saiv  his  own  country's  short-lived  leopard  slain:  "Out- 
lasted the  Grecian  empire,  which  in  the  visions  of  Daniel,  is  represented  by  a 
Leopard  with  four  wings  upon  the  back,  and  four  heads.  Cf.  Chap,  vii,  6. 
(Grosart).  Stronger  Roman  eagle  did  out-fly:  "  Was  received  even  beyond  the 
bounds  of  the  Roman  Empire,  and  out-lived  it."  (Grosart).  Mecha:  the  town 
in  Arabia  where  Mahumet  was  born.  Divining  wand:  Virgula  Divina,  is  a  two- 
forked  branch  of  an  haxel-tree.  which  is  used  for  the  finding  out  cither  of  veins, 
or  hidden  treasures  of  gold  or  silver;  and  being  carried  about,  bends  downwards 
(or  rather  is  said  to  do  so)  when  it  comes  to  the  place  where  they  lie.  (Grosart). 
The  Baltic,  Euxine,  and  the  Caspian,  And  slender-limbed  Mediterranean:  The 
navigation  of  the  ancients  was  confined  to  these  seas,  as  they  seldom  ventured 
out  into  the  gcean. 

Page  124,  No.  86 — Thou  that  by  ruin  dost  repair.  Mr.  Berdan  in  his  edition 
of  the  Poems  of  John  Cleveland,  i903,  thinks  this  poem  was  "probably  written 
by  an  Oxford  man."  It  does  not  appear  in  any  of  the  editions  of  Cleveland's 
works  except  Cleavcland  Revived.  Dr.  Arber  prints  it  in  his  Milton  Anthology, 
where  he  attributes  it  to  Cleveland. 

Page  125,  No.  87 — Captain  or  Colonel,  or  Knight  in  Arms.  The  assault  ex- 
pected was  in  November,  1642,  after  the  indecisive  skirmish  at  Edgchill,  fought 
on  October  23,  when  the  Parliamentary  army  under  Essex  withdrew  to  Warwick, 
and  the  Royal  army  advanced  along  the  Thames  valley  upon  London.  The 
king  was  opposed  by  a  strong  Parliamentary  force  of  twenty-four  thousand  at 
Turnhara  Green,  and  withdrew  to  Colnbrook,  and  the  city  was  saved  from 
assault.  Emathian:  Macedonia,  from  Emathius,  the  capitoI  city.  Conqueror: 
Alexander  the  Great,  by  whom  Thebes  was  sacked,  B.  C.  333.  The  tradition 
is  related  in  Pliny,  A''ii/Mra/  History,  7,  19,  that  after  Alexander  had  conquered 
Thebes,  the  city  in  which  Pindar  had  passed  most  of  his  life,  he  commanded 
that  the  poet's  house  should  be  spared  from  destruction.  It  is  supposed  that 
Alexander's  clemency  was  not  altogether  out  of  regard  for  the  poet,  but  in  recog- 
nition of  Pindar's  odes  in  praise  of  Alexander  of  Macedon,  his  ancestor.  Sad 
Electra's  poet:  Euripides,  whose  tragedy  of  Electro  was  produced  B.  C.  415-13. 

P..\GE  126,  No.  88 — Avenge  O  Lord  Thy  slaiighter'd  Saints,  whose  bones.  The 
incident  which  called  forth  this  sonnet  is_  recorded  by  Pattison  in  his  Life  of 
Milton,  p.  126:  "The  inhabitants  of  certain  Piedraontese  valleys  had  held  from 
time  immemorial,  and  long  before  Luther,  tenets  and  forms  of  worship  very 
like  those  to  which  the  German  reformers  had  sought  to  bring  back  the  Church. 
The  Vaudois  were  wretchedly  poor,  and  had  been  incessantly  the  objects  of 

8oo 


NOTES 

aggression  and  persecution.  In  January  1655,  a  sudden  determination  was 
taken  by  the  Turin  government  to  make  them  conform  to  the  Catholic  religion, 
by  torce.  The  whole  of  the  inhabitants  of  three  valleys  were  ordered  to  quit  the 
country,  within  tliree  davs,  under  pain  of  death  and  confiscation  of  goods,  unless 
they  would  become,  or  undertake  to  become.  Catholics.  The\-  sent  their  humble 
remonstrances  to  the  Court  of  Turin  against  this  edict.  The  remonstrances  were 
disregarded,  and  military  execution  was  ordered.  On  April  17,  1655,  the  soldiers, 
recruits  from  all  countries — the  Irish  are  especially  mentioned — were  let  loose 
upon  the  unarmed  population.  Murder,  and  rape,  and  burning  are  the  ordinary 
incidents  of  militarv  execution.  These  were  not  enough  to  satisfy  the  ferocity 
of  the  Catholic  soldiery,  who  revelled  for  many  days  in  the  infliction  of  all  that 
brutal  lust  or  savage  cruelty  can  suggest  to  man."  When  all  our  Fathers  wor- 
ship't  Stocks  and  Slones:  i.  e.  when  England  was  a  Catholic  country  before  the 
Reformation,  and  idolatry  which  Milton  insists  to  be  the  most  repulsive  element 
in  the  faith  and  practice  of  the  Catholic  religion.  Cf .  His  tract  on  Trice  Religion. 
1659.  Thai  rolled  mother  unth  infant  down  the  rochs:  This  incident  was  related 
as  fact  by  Sir  William  Moreland,  Cromwell's  agent  in  Piedmont,  in  his  account 
of  the  massacre  published  in  London,  165S.  Babylonian  ^co:  Rome  was  Babylon 
to  the  Puritans,  and  was  doomed  to  suffer  the  Apocalyptical  vision  of  St.  John 
at  the  day  of  Judgment.     Cf .  Rev.  xviii. 

P.\GE  128,  No.  90 — How,  Providetice?  and  yet  a  Scottish  crew?  "The  siege  of 
Gloucester,"  says  Mr.  Berdan,  The  Poems  of  John  Cleveland,  1903,  p.  146, 
"August  10,  1643,  is  always  given  as  the  turning  point  in  the  war.  It  was  not 
that  the  King  was  defeated  so  much  as  that  he  failed  to  score  a  victory,  when  a 
victory  would  have  been  decisive.  Pym  rose  to  the  occasion,  forced  the  Covenant 
upon  Scotland,  and  called  in  the  Scots.  His  death,  December  6th,  followed  this 
last  triumph.  The  Scotch  army  of  invasion  entered  England,  January  19,  1644, 
to  fight  against  their  King.  To  the  Royalist  there  seemed  no  greater  wickedness 
than  this  action  of  the  Scots,  who  were  thus  at  one  and  the  same  time  both  foreign 
invaders  and  rebellious  subjects.  The  satire  ...  is  Cleveland's  most  celebrated 
work."  Pigwidgeon:  name  of  a  fairy:  Cf.  Drayton's  Nymphidia,  Book  of  Eliza- 
betlvan  Verse,  p.  446;  here  used  for  anything  "  pretty  or  small."  Marshall,  that 
Geneva  bull:  Stephen  Marshall  of  Finchinglield  in  Essex,  one  of  the  "Smecly- 
mnitans,"  and  commonly  known  as  the  "Geneva  Bidl"  from  his  " Calvinistic 
doctrines  and  his  strong  voice."  Wild  collegiatcs  had  cost  the  honest  high-shoes  in 
their  termlyfees:  Of  the  word  Collegiatcs,  and  these  lines  Mr.  Berdan  says  {Poems 
of  John  Cleveland,  1903),  "The  meaning  is  evidently  collections,  but  I  cannot 
find  the  word  in  this  sense  any  where  else.  The  passage  refers  to  the  fact  that 
the  country  people,  on  coming  to  London,  usually  on  business  with  their  lawyers, 
went  to  see  the  collections  of  wild  animals  in  the  Tower."  Montrose:  James 
Graham,  Marquis  of  Montrose.  Crauford:  Ludovic  Lindsay,  Earl  of  Crawford. 
When  an  act  passed:  Mr.  Berdan  quoting  from  Lord  Clarendon's  History  of 
the  Civil  War,  Bk.  HI.  p.  292,  says,  that  the  two  houses  voted  as  a  token  of  their 
friendship  toward  the  Scots,  "to  give  them  a  gratuity  of  three  hundred  thousand 
pounds,  over  and  above  the  twenty-five  thousand  pounds  the  month,  during  the 
time  that  their  stay  here  should  be  necessary!  .  .  .  And  without  doubt,  when 
posterity  shall  recover  the  courage,  and  conscience,  and  the  old  honor  of  the 
English  nation,  it  will  not  with  more  indignation  and  blushes  contemplate  any 
action  of  this  sedetious  and  rebellious  age,  than  that  the  nobility  and  gentry  of 
England,  who  were  not  guilty  of  the  treason,  should  recompense  an  invasion 
from  a  foreign  condemned  nation,  with  whatever  establishments  they  proposed 
in  their  own  kingdom,  and  with  a  donative  of  three  hundred  thousand  pounds, 
over  and  above  all  charges,  out  of  the  bowels  of  England."  Picts:  from  picliis, 
empty,  vain;  here  used  as  a  pun  on  one  of  the  names  given  the  Scots.  Hyperbolus: 
a  demagogue  of  Athens  who  attempted  to  ostracise  Aristides,  but  was  banished 
himself.    "  The  application  of  this  dignified  punishment  upon  so  base  a  man 

8oi 


NOTES 


disgraced  it,  and  it  is  said  never  to  have  been  used  again."  (Berdan).  A  Scot 
.  .  .  Soland  goose:  For  an  explanation  of  the  belief  in  these  lines  Mr.  Berdan 
quotes  the  account  of  Sir  Robert  Moray  in  Relations  concetning  Barnacles: 
"These  shells  hang  at  the  tree  by  a  neck  longer  than  the  shell;  of  a  kind  of  filmy 
substance,  round  and  hollow,  and  creased,  not  unlike  the  wind-jiipe  of  a  chicken; 
spreading  out  broadest  where  it  is  fastened  to  the  tree,  from  which  it  seems  to 
draw  and  convey  the  matter  which  serves  for  the  growtli  and  vegetation  of  the 
shell,  and  the  little  bird  within  it.  This  in  every  shell  that  I  opened,  as  well  the 
least  as  the  biggest,  1  found  so  curiously  and  completely  formed,  that  there 
appeared  nothing  as  to  the  external  parts  for  making  up  a  perfect  sea-fowl;  every 
little  part  appearing  so_ distinctly,  that  the  whole  looked  like  a  large  bird  seen 
through  a  concave,  or  diminishing  glass,  the  colour  and  feature  being  everywhere 
so  clear  and  neat.  The  little  bill  like  that  of  a  goose,  the  eyes  marked,  the  head, 
neck,  breast  and  wings,  tail  and  feet  formed,  the  feathers  everywhere  perfectly 
shaped  and  blackish  coloured,  and  the  fegt  like  those  of  other  water  fowl  to  the 
best  of  my  remembrance;  all  being  dead  and  dry,  I  did  not  look  after  the  inward 
parts  of  them;  but  having  nipt  off  and  broken  a  great  many  of  them,  I  carried 
about  twenty  or  twenty-four  away  with  me." 

Page  132,  No.  91 — Countrymen  of  England,  liholive  at  home  with  ease.  This 
is  Parker's  original  naval  ballad  of  which  there  were  a  number  of  altered  versions 
by  contemporary  balladists.  To  this  ballad  Campbell  was  indebted  for  his 
famous  naval  ode  Ye  Mariners  of  England.  The  text  here  is  from  the  Rox- 
burghe  Ballads,  vol.  VI,  1889,  edited  by  J.  Woodfall  Ebsworth. 

Page  133,  No.  92 — My  cabinets  are  oysler-shells.     From  the  Convent  of  Pleasure. 

Page  134,  No.  93— The  Star  that  bids  the  Shepherd  fold— From  Comus,  1637. 
Wavering  morrice:  morris,  corruption  of  Moorish,  a  popular  old  dance  introduced 
into  England  from  Spain  during  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  Dark  valid  Colytto: 
"  A  goddess  worshipped  by  the  Thracians.  and  apparently  identical  with  Phrygian 
Cybe'.e.  Her  worship  was  introduced  at  Athens  and  Corinth,  where  it  was  cele- 
brated, in  private,  with  great  indecency  and  licentiousness."  Harper's  Did.  of 
Class.  Lit.  and  Ant.  Hecat':  "A  mysterious  divinity  sometimes  identified  with 
Diana  and  sometimes  with  Proserpina.  As  Diana  represents  the  moonlight 
splendour  of  night,  so  Hecate  represents  its  darkness  and  terrours .  She  haunted 
cross-roads  and  graveyards,  was  the  goddess  of  sorcery  and  witchcraft,  and  wan- 
bered  by  night,  seen  only  by  the  dogs,  whose  barking  told  of  her  approach." 
(Gayley).  Cabin'd  loop  hole:  "The  first  rift  in  the  clouds,  through  which  the 
dawn  light  streams."     (Moody,  Cambridge  Edition). 

Pace  136,  No.  94 — Sweet  Echo,  sweetest  Nymph  that  liv'st  unseen.  Airy  shell: 
the  hollow  vault  of  atmosphere.  Cf.  The  Riihaiyal,  "inverted  Bowl  they  call 
the  sky."  Meander:  a  river  in  Asia  Minor,  selected  as  a  haunt  for  Echo  because 
of  its  windings,  which  would  correspond  to  the  replications  of  echoing  sound." 
For  a  different  opinion  see  Professor  Hales,  Folia  Lilleraria,  pp.  231-38.  Daugh- 
ter ofllie  Sphere:  i.  e.  "daughter  of  what  Milton  calls  the  airy  shell."  Warburton, 
quoted  by  Todd,  thinks  that  "Milton  supposes  Echo  to  owe  her  existence  first 
to  the  reverberation  of  the  music  of  the  spheres."  Cf.  At  a  Solemn  Mtisick,  1. 
2:  "Sphear-born  harmonious  Sisters,  Voice  and  Vers."  Resotatding  grace:  i.  e. 
grace  of  echo. 

Page  137.  No.  ^^—Sabrinafair.  .Amber-dropping:  "Hair  of  amber  colour 
with  the  waterdrops  falling  through  it."  (Masson).  Oceanus:  god  of  the  great 
ocean-stream  which  Homer  supposed  to  encircle  the  earth.  Neptune:  god  of  the 
sea  after  Saturn  was  overthrown.  Teihys:  wife  of  Oceanus.  -Nereus:  father  of 
the  Nereids.  The  Carpathian  wizard:  Proteus  whose  home  was  the  island  of 
Carpathus,  who  had  the  prophetic  and  could  change  his  form  at  will.     Tritons: 

802 


NOTES 


son  of  Neptune  and  Amphitrite,  was  trumpeter  of  the  ocean,  who  with  his  sea- 
shell  could  stir  or  quiet  the  waves.  Glaucus:  a  Boeotian  fisherman,  who  having 
eaten  a  magic  web,  was  changed  into  a  sea-god  with  prophetic  powers.  Leuco- 
thea,  was  Ino,  the  daughter  of  Cadmus,  who  to  escape  the  furies  of  her  mad 
husband,  Athamas,  plunged  into  the  sea  with  her  son  Melicertes,  and  became  a 
sea-goddess.  Melicertes  became  the  sea-god  Pahemon,  and  is  associated  by  the 
Romans  as  the  god  of  harbours.  Thetis:  a  daughter  of  Nercus,  and  mother  of 
Achilles.  Parthcnope:  a  sea-nymph,  to  whom  a  shrine  was  erected  at  Naples, 
where  her  dead  body  was  washed  ashore.     Ligea:  one  of  the  Sirens. 

Page  139,  No.  96 — To  the  ocean  now  I  fly.  Assyrian  queen:  the  Phoenician 
Ashtaroth,  and  Aphrodite  in  the  Greek  mythology.  Adonis  oft  reposes:  Cf. 
Bion's  Lament  for  Adonis,  Lang's  edition. 

Page  141 ,  No.  97 — Like  a  top  which  rtmnclh  round.  From  the  Arcadian 
Princess,  1635,  Bk.  II. 

Page  141,  No.  98 — As  birds  to  hatch  their  young  do  sit  in  spring.  From  the 
Address  to  poets,  in  the  preface  to  Fancies,  The  Several  Keyes  of  Nature,  which 
unlock  her  several  Cabinets,  in  the  Duchess  of  Newcastle's  Poems  and  Fancies, 
1653. 

Page  143,  No.  99 — When,  at  the  first,  I  took  my  pen  in  hand.  From  The  Pil- 
grim's Progress,  Part  I,  1678. 

Page  153,  No.  104 — 'Tis  wine  that  inspires.  Appeared  in  Henry  Lawes' 
Ayres,  I,  1653. 

Page  156,  No.  106— Beai  on,  proud  billows:  Boreas,  blow:  from  A.  Wright's 
Parnassus  Biceps,  1656. 

Page  159,  No.  107 — Go  empty  joys.  These  verses  are  from  a  Broad-sheet 
ballad,  published  in  1641,  the  year  of  Lord  Strafford's  e.>iecution,  and  there  en- 
titled Verses  lately  written  by  Thomas  Earl  of  Strafford.  Charles'  wain:  a  popular 
name  given  to  the  group  of  seven  stars  in  the  constellation  of  Ursa  Major.  "  The 
play  upon  the  words,"  declares  Professor  Schelling,  {Seventeenth  Century  Lyrics) 
"by  which  Charles'  (the  King's)  wain  (wagon)  is  likened  to  the  chariot  of  the 
Sun,  and  StratTord's  'ambitious  wings'  to  the  audacious  act  of  Phaeton  in  at- 
tempting to  drive  his  father's  fiery  steeds,  is  as  apt  as  it  is  obvious." 

Page  162,  No.  108 — Great  Monarch  of  the  world,  from  whose  power  springs. 
These  verses  were  printed  by  Bishop  Burnet  in  the  Memoirs  of  the  Lives  and 
Actions  of  James  and  William,  Dukes  of  Hamilton  and  Castle-Herald,  1673, 
p.  483.  In  vouching  for  the  authenticity  of  the  verses  Burnet  says:  "I  shall 
therefor  insert  a  copy  of  verses  written  by  his  majesty  in  his  captivity,  which  a 
very  worthy  gentleman,  who  had  the  honor  of  waiting  on  him  then,  and  was 
much  trusted  by  him,  copied  out  from  the  original,  who  avoucheth  it  to  be  a  true 
copy."  The  poem  as  printed  by  Bishop  Burnet  is  of  unequal  merit,  and  I 
have  chosen  to  follow  Archbishop  Trench  in  omitting  several  stanzas. 

Page  163,  No.  109 — Hence  loathed  Melancholy.  Cerbcrtts:  Erebus,  was  the 
spouse  of  night,  but  "Milton,  in  order  to  have  Melancholy  inspire  horrour  and 
repulsion,  _  invented  the  present  genealogy"  ((Huntington).  Stygian  cave: 
where  arrived  the  shades  ferried  across  by  Charon.  Cimmerian  desert:  the 
"land  and  city  of  the  Cimmerians,  shrouded  in  mist  and  cloud,  and  never  does 
the  shining  sun  look  down  on  them  with  his  rays,  neither  when  he  climbs  up  the 
starry  heavens  nor  when  again  he  turns  earthward  from  the  firmament  but  deadly 


803 


NOTES 


night  is  outspread  over  miserable  mortals"  {Odyssey,  xi,  13-19,  Butcher  and 
Lang).  Enphrosyne:  "The  first  parentage  assigned  to  Euphrosyne  (on  the 
strength  of  a  sclioliast's  commentary  to  the  .iLneid)  makes  her  the  half  sister  of 
Comus,  who  was  the  son  of  Circe  by  Bacchus.  Euphrosyne  represents  innocent 
pleasure;  Comus  represents  evil,  sensual  pleasure.  In  the  double  parentage 
Milton  has  in  mind  two  ideals  of  innocent  pleasure — that  which  springs  from 
Wine  and  Love,  and  that  which  springs  from  Dawn  and  the  light  brce;'es  of 
summer"  (Moody,  Cambridge  edition).  Hebe:  cup-bearer  to  the  gods,  and  per- 
sonification of  eternal  youth.  Then  come:  this  obscare  passage  has  been  dis..  ussed 
and  interpreted  by  many  editors.  Masson's  explanation  seems  the  more  favour- 
ably accepjted:  "Milton,  or  whoever  the  imaginary  speaker  is,  asks  Mirth  to 
admit  him  to  her  company,  and  that  of  the  nymph  Liberty,  and  let  him  en- 
joy the  pleasures  natural  to  such  companionship  (38-40).  He  then  goes  on  to 
specify  such  pleasures,  or  to  give  examples  of  them.  The  first  (41-44)  is  that  of 
sensations  of  early  morning,  when,  walking  round  a  country  cottage,  one  hears 
the  song  of  the  mounting  sky-lark,  welcoming  the  signs  of  sunrise.  The  second 
is  that  of  coming  to  the  cottage  window,  looking  in,  and  bidding  a  cheerful  good- 
morrow,  through  the  sweet-briar,  vine,  or  eglantine,  to  those  of  the  family  who 
are  astir."  Sweet-briar  .  .  .  eglantine:  these  plants  being  identical,  it  is  sui> 
posed  by  Warton,  Milton  meant  the  honeysuckle;  by  Keightley,  the  dog-rose. 
Hoar  Hill:  i.  e.  covered  with  hoar-frost.  His  state:  "triumphal  progress,  like 
that  of  a  monarch,  with  the  clouds  'in  thousand  liveries  dight'  as  the  sun's  at- 
tendants" (Moody,  Cambridge  edition).  Tells  his  tale:  tale  is  here  used  in  the 
sense  of  "number,"  and  tells,  in  the  sense  of  "count:"  thus  meaning  '  'ever\'  shepherd 
counts  his  sheep;"  "Certainly,"  says  Mr.  Moody,  "a  more  realistic  morning  occu- 
pation than  story-telling."  Russet  lawns:  open  lands  or  fields,  quite  different 
from  our  present  meaning  of  a  plot  of  grass  in  the  front  of  a  modern  house.  Fal- 
lows gray:  "a  fallow  is  a  piece  of  ploughed  land  left  unsown  "  (JNlasson).  Towers 
and  Battlements:  Ma.sson  declares  that  these  "are  almost  evidently  Windsor 
Castle'  which  was  not  far  from  Horton  where  Milton  was  living  when  he  com- 
posed the  poem.  Cynosure:  literally  Dog's  Tail,  applied  to  the  constellation  of 
the  Lesser  Bear,  containing  the  Pole-Star,  which  was  fancifully  supposed  to  re- 
semble a  dog.  By  this  constellation  the  Phccnician  mariners  steered,  while  the 
Greek  manners  directed  their  course  by  the  Greater  Bear.  The  metaphorical 
meaning  is  the  "object  upon  which  the  attention  is  fixed."  Lubbar-Fend: 
lubbar-fiend.  Joh)ison's  learned  Sock:  the  sock,  from  Latin  soccus,  the  low- 
heeled  slipjper  worn  by  actors  in  ancient  comedy,  and  contrasted  to  the  buskin, 
from  cothurnus,  or  high-heeled  boot  worn  by  tragic  actors.  The  allusion  is  to 
Jonson's  great  erudition  as  displayed  in  his  remarkable  comedies.  Swecte.st 
Shakcspcar:  de.spite  Milton's  couplets,  the  epitaph  On  Shakespear,  1630,  see 
p.  116,  this  characterisation  of  the  great  dramatist,  exquisite  as  it  is,  rather  leaves 
the  impression  that  Milton  did  not  fully  appreciate  the  superior  genius  of  Shakes- 
peare. 

Page  168,  No.  110 — Hence  vain  deluding  joyes.  Pensioners:  retinue.  Queen 
EH/abeth  kept  about  her  a  body  of  select  noblemen  constitutinj;  a  body-guard, 
and  called  "gentlemen  pensioners."  Prince  Memnon's  sister:  Himtington  sur- 
mises, that  the  reference  may  be  to  Memera,  although  the  name  of  Memnon's 
.sister  is  no  where  mentioned  in  legend.  Odysseus  describes  Eurypylus  as  the 
comeliest  man  he  had  ever  seen,  next  to  Memnon.  Milton  endows  a  mythical 
sister  with  his  same  beauty.  Slarr'd  Elhiope  Queen:  Cassiopeia,  wife  of  Cepheus 
and  mother  of  Andromache.  She  boasted  that  her  daughter's  beauty  was  fairer 
than  the  Nereids,  in  consequence  of  which  t'ney  persuade  Poseidon  to  send  a  sea- 
monster  to  ravage  the  coast  of  Ethiopia.  As  Cassiopeia  and  Andromache,  after 
their  death,  were  placed  in  the  heavens  as  stars,  Milton  uses  the  epithet  starr'd. 
Ida's  inmost  grove:  Mount  Ida  in  Crete.  Stoic  of  ciprcs  Laii'n:  usually  a  veil  or 
hood;  stola,  or  long,  flowing  robe  of  a  Roman  lady:  here  evidently  a  shawl  or 
wimple  (Moody),  of  black  crepe.     Thrice  great  Hermes:  Hermes  Trismegistus 

804 


NOTES 


(i.  e.  three  greatest)  identified  by  the  Greeks  with  their  god  Hermes,  Mercury, 
the  Egyptian  king  Throth,  who  was  to  be  the  originator  of  Egyptian  art,  science,' 
alchemy,  and  religion.  A  number  of  books  attributed  to  him  were  wTitten  by 
the  Neoplatonists  of.  the  fourth  century.  Presenting  Thebes:  Milton  here  indi- 
cates the  chief  motives  of  Attic  tragedy,  having  in  mind  the  dramas  of  /Eschylus, 
Sophocles,  and  Euripides.  Bnskined  stage:  i.  e.  tragic  stage;  see  note  above. 
Muscctis:  mythical  poet  of  Thrace,  associated  with  Orpheus.  Him  that  left 
half  fold:  The  story  of  Canibuscan  bold:  Chaucer;  The  Squire's  Tale,  v.'hich  he 
left  unfinished  at  his  death.  The  names  and  incidents  mentioned  in  the  next 
lines  are  in  the  story.  Cambuscan:  the  Tartar  King.  The  Attick  Boy:  Cephalus, 
loved  by  Aurora,  goddess  of  the  dawn.  Sylvan:  Sylvanus,  Latin  god  of  fields 
and  forests. 

Page  180,  No.  115 — Fly  envious  Time,  till  thou  run  out  thy  race.  The  heavy 
Plummets  pace:  "the  slow  descent  of  weights  in  an  old-fashioned  clock."  In- 
dividual kiss:  i.  e.,  inseparable,  not  to  be  divided. 

Page  181,  No.  116 — Happy  those  early  days,  when  I.  It  was  this  poem  which 
inspired  Wordsworth  to  write  his  famous  Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Irninortality. 
In  the  following  poem  No.  117,  Corruption,  a  similar  idea  is  expressed. 

Page  185,  No.  119 — When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent.  That  one  Talent; 
Cf.  Mattheiv  x.xv,  14-30.  Thousands:  i.  e.  angels.  Stand:  Cf.  Daniel,  vii,  10, 
and  Luke,  i,  19. 

Page  185,  No.  120 — Who  'would  true  valour  sec.  From  the  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

Page  186,  No.  121 — He  that  is  down  needs  fear  no  fall.  From  The  Pilgrim's 
Progress. 

Page  187,  No.  122—7  saw  Eternity  the  other  night.  John  ii,  16-17.  "All 
that  is  in  the  world,  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  the  lust  of  the  eyes,  and  the  pride  of  life, 
is  not  of  the  Father,  but  is  of  the  world. 

"And  the  world  passeth  away,  and  the  lusts  thereof;  but  he  that  doeth  the  will 
of  God  abideth  for  ever."  The  darksome  statesman:  Mr.  Chambers  thinks 
this  is  a  reference  to  Oliver  Cromwell.  Grots  and  caves:  "It  is  possible  that 
Vaughan  had  in  mind  the  Myth  of  the  Cave  in  Plato's  Republic,  Bk.  vii,  and  of 
the  ascent  to  the  Idea  of  Good  there  described."  (Chambers). 

Page  191,  No.  124. — This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  mum.  Turning 
Sphear:  "the  whole  universe  of  contentric  spheres,  according  to  the  Ptolenian 
astronomy  (Moody).  Hooked  Chariot:  currus  falcatus,  "chariot  with  scythes 
projecting  outwarci  from  the  a.xles"  (Moody).  Birds  of  calm:  while  the  halcyon 
was  breeding  the  seas  were  calm.  Lucifer:  morning-star.  Pan:  here  used  as 
the  symbol  of  Christ  Lord  of  all.  Th'  old  Dragon:  Satan.  Cf,  Revelations.  The 
Lars,  and  Lcmiires:  household  spirits  of  relations  dead;  Lares,  the  beneficent 
spirits,  Lemures,  the  inimical  spirits.  Flamins:  Koman  priests.  Pcor,  and 
Baalim:  Baal-Peor,  the  sun-god  worshiped  by  the  Phccnicians.*  Twisc-batlcr'd 
god  of  Palestine:  Dagon,  sea-god  of  the  Philistines,  Cf.  2  Samuel,  v.  3-4.  Ashta- 
roth:  moon-goddess  of  the  Phoenicians:  the  Greek  .Aphrodite,  and  Syrian  Astarte. 
Libyc  Hammon:  Egyptian  god  at  Thebes,  with  the  form  of  a  man  with  curled 
horns.  Thamuz:  J'hammuz:  Moloch:  Isis:  goddess  of  earth.  Orns:  Horus,  god 
of  the  sun.  Dog  Anubis:  son  of  Osiris,  having  the  head  of  a  dog.  Osiris: 
Egyptian  god  of  Agriculture,  worshiped  under  the  form  of  .\i;is,  the  sacred  Bull. 
Unshowr'd  Grasse:  i.  e.  watered  by  the  Nile  only.     Typhon:  hundred-headed 


805- 


NOTES 


monster,  destroyed  by  Zeus;  his  Egyptian  name  was  Suti,  in  which  country  he 
was  worshiped  under  the  form  of  a  crocodile.     Youngest  teemed:  latest  born. 

Page  207,  No.  131 — When  for  the  throne  with  which  I  long,  too  long.  Curious 
frame:  frame  of  flowers. 

Page  217,  No.  138 — Where  the  remote  Bermudas  ride.  The  islands  were 
named  after  Juan  Bermudaz  who  discovered  them  in  1522.  Remote:  called  the 
"remotest  island  in  the  whole  world"  by  Oveido  who  accompanied  Bermudaz. 
The  island  was  settled  by  sixty  people  emigrating  from  Virgin'n  imder  Henry 
More.  They  were  joined  by  refugees  from  England  who  emigrated  to  escape 
the  religious  tyranny  that  led  to  the  Civil  War.  In  1621,  the  colonists  were 
granted  a  charter  giving  them  among  others,  the  right  to  worship.  Ormus:  Am- 
h  crgris: 

Page  225,  No.  144 — Metkought  I  saw  my  late  espoused  Saint.  Milton's 
second  wife,  Catherine,  whom  he  married  on  November  12,  1656.  She  died  in 
childbirth,  February,  1658.  Alccstis:  wife  of  Admetus.  King  of  Pherae,  in  Thes- 
saly,  who  died  in  her  husband's  stead,  and  brought  back  to  life  by  Herakles, 
"  Joves  great  Son."    Face  was  vail'd:  as  Alcestis,  when  she  appeared  to  Admetus. 

Page  227,  No.  146 — Yet  once  more,  O  ye  Laurels  and  once  more.  Edward 
King,  of  Christ  College,  Cambridge,  is  com.memorated  in  this  elegy.  He  was 
the  author  of  some  Latin  verses,  but  his  popularity  seemed  due  to  his  high  social 
standing.  Sisters  of  the  Sacred  Welt:  the  Nine  Aluses  of  mythology,  to  whom  a 
fountain  on  Mt.  Helicon,  called  Aganippe,  was  sacred.  Seat  of  Jove  doth  spring: 
an  altar  on  Mt.  Helicon  was  dedicated  to  Jove,  but  Milton  is  responsible  for  the 
source  of  the  "sacred  well"  springing  from  beneath  it.  Damcetas:  a  name  in 
piastoral  poetry;  Cf.  Theocritus,  Idyl,  vi.  Steep:  Kerig-y-Druidion  in  Denbigh- 
shire (W'arton).  Mona:  the  island  of  Anglesey,  where  in  ancient  times  the  Druids 
performed  mystic  rites  in  oak  groves  which  have  since  [jerished.  Deva:  the  river 
Dee,  which  once  formed  part  of  the  boundary  line  between  England  a;id  Wales; 
called  the  "wisard  stream"  because  of  the  superstition  that  it  boded  ill  to  the 
country  towards  which  it  changed  its  course.  Muse  her  self:  Calliope.  For  her 
enchanting  son:  Calliope  was  the  motlier  of  Orpheus,  who  losing  his  wife  Eurydice, 
became  so  melancholy  that  he  refused  to  take  part  in  the  Bacchic  orgies,  for  which 
ths  infuriated  Maenads  tore  him  to  pieces.  Amaryllis  .  .  .  Nca-a:  names  in 
pastoral  poetry.  The  Blind  fury:  Atropos,  who  cuts  the  thread  of  life,  was  one 
of  the  tlu-ee  Fates.  Arethuse:  a  fountain  in  Sicily,  representing  the  pastoral 
poetry  of  the  Greek  poets.  Mi-ncius:  a  river  near  where  Virgil  was  born,  repre- 
senting Latin  pastoral  poetry.  Herald  of  the  sea:  Triton,  son  of  Neptune, 
trumpeter  of  the  ocean.  Hippotades:  /Eolus,  son  of  Hippotes.  Panope:  tute- 
lary genius  of  the  river  Cam.  Sanguine  flower:  the  hyacinth,  which  was  supposed 
to  have  sprung  from  the  blood  of  Hyacinthus.  The  Pilot  of  the  Galilean  Lake: 
pilot  is  here  used  in  the  sense  of  fishermen,  thus  St.  Peter,  who  was  given  "two 
massy  Keyes"  of  heaven,  and  is  introduced  as  the  representative  of  the  Church. 
Ci. Matthew  xvi,  18  and  19  "And  1  say  unto  thee.  That  thou  art  Peter  .  .  .  And 
I  will  give  unto  thee  the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  Lean  and  flashy  songs: 
unedifying  and  insipid  sermons.  Wind  and  rank  mist:  unwholesome  doctrine. 
Crini  Woolf:  the  t'atholic  Church.  Two-handed  engine:  all  editors  confess  this 
to  be  the  "crux  of  the  poem."  "Our  first  concern,"  says  Mr.  Huntington 
"must  be  to  get  the  general  meaning  of  the  passage.  This  is,  'But  the  instru- 
ment of  retribution  is  at  hand  and  is  ready  once  for  all  to  smite  the  corrupt 
Church.'_  The  engine  (literally,  'something  skilful')  is  called  two-handed  be- 
cause it  is  wielded  with  two  hands.  All  this  is  clear.  The  difficulty  comes  in 
getting  anything  more  definite  out  of  the  e.xpression  two-liand'.d  engine.  If 
Milton  intended  to  convey  to  our  minds  any  particular  image,  which  is  doubtful, 

866 


NOTES 


Jerram's  explanation  is  as  good  as  any,  namely,  that  Milton  is  here  using  the 
familiar  simile  of  the  axe,  "laid  unto  the  root  of  the  trees"  (Mall,  iii,  10,  etc).. 
Other  editors  have  sought  to  identify  the  two-handed  engine  with  (2)  the  axe  with 
which  Laud  was  beheaded  in  1645;  (3)  the  sword  of  the  Archangel  Michael 
{P.  L.  vi.  250-253);  (4)  the  "sharp  twoedged  sword"  of  Rev.  i,  16;  ii,  12-16;  (5) 
the  English  Parliament  with  its  two  Houses  (Masson);  (6)  the  scythe  of  the  exe- 
cutioner Death;  (7)  the  two-handed  sword  of  romance  (Warburton);  (8)  the 
sword  of  Justice  (Verity);  (9)  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  powers;  and  (10)  "the 
sword  of  the  Spirit,  which  is  the  word  of  God"  (Ephesians  vi,  17),  which  we 
wield  by  "a  double  grip  on  the  Old  Testamcnl  and  on  the  New  "  (Morley).  Al- 
pheus:  river-god  who  pursued  Arethusa.  Swart  Star:  Sirius,  the  dog-star, 
called  swart  because  it  was  thought  to  be  a  swart-making,  i.  e.  tanning  star. 
Fable  of  Bellcrus:  fabled  abode  of  Bellerus,  the  name  coined  by  Milton  from 
Bellerium,  the  Roman  name  of  Land's  End,  in  Cornwall.  Namancos  and 
Bayona's  hold:  Places  in  Spain,  the  first  in  Galicia,  near  Cape  Finistere,  and 
Bayona  Castle  (hold)  to  the  southward  on  the  sea.  Verity  has  a  note  in  wliich 
he  attempts  t-o  show  that  Milton  found  these  names  in  Mercator's  Atlas,  two 
editions  of  which  appeared  in  England,  1623  and  1636. 

Page  259,  No.  158 — When  Robin  Hood  was  about  twenty  years  old.  A  black 
letter  copy  of  this  ballad,  printed  by  W.  Olney,  is  in  Lord  Crawford's  collection, 
with  the  date  fixed  about  1680-85.  The  version  here,  which  is  probably  not  the 
original,  is  from  A  Collection  of  Ballads,  1723. 

Page  265,  No.  159 — The  Kynge  came  to  Nolynghame.  The  Seventh  Fytte,  in 
A  Gesl  of  Robyn  Hode.  Professor  Child  thinks  the  "whole  poem  may  have  been 
put  together  as  early  as  1400."  May  ryde  or  gone:  may  ride  or  walk.  The  best 
ball  in  his  hode:  a  humorous  ^saying  of  long  standing.  Ye  nnist  do  after  me:  i.  e. 
follow  my  advice.  Targe:  seal.  But  me  lyke  well  your  scrvyse:  i.  e.  unless  your 
service  please  me. 

Page  275,  No.  160 — Come  listen  to  me,  you  gallants  so  free.  In  a  life  of  Robin 
Hood  of  the  late  sLxteenth  century,  the  incident  of  Allin  A  Dale  is  related  as 
happening  to  Scarlock,  a  member  of  Robin  Hood's  band.  (Child).  Stint  nor 
lin:  stopped  nor  stayed. 

Page  284,  No.  162 — In  somer  when  the  shawes  be  shcync.  From  a  MS.  of 
about  1450.  Shawes  be  sheync:  woods  be  beautiful.  After  the  way:  i.  e.  upon  the 
way.     No  noder  kepe  I  be:  no  noder,  none  other — thus,  I  care  to  be  no  other. 

Page  298,  No.  163 — Come,  all  you  brave  gallants,  and  listen  awhile.  From 
a  black-letter  copy  in  the  collection  of  Anthony  a.  \\'ood.  Woodweele:  generally 
explained  as  woodpecker;  sometimes  as  thrush,  or  redbreast.  (Kittredge).  At 
some  unsett  slcvcn:  i.  e.  at  an  unexpected  or  unappointed  time.  In  Iwinn:  apart. 
Prickes:  the  long-range  target  contrasted  to  butts,  the  near.  (Furnivall).  The 
garlande:  the  ring  within  which  the  prick  was  set;  and  the  prick  seems  to  have 
been  now  a  wand,  now  a  white  mark,  "bull's  eye,  or  peg  in  the  middle  of  a  target," 
with  prickewande  as  pole  or  stick.  A  ^'rover  was  any  accidental  mark, — tree 
or  the  like."  (Gummere). 

Page  312,  No.  165 — When  Robin  Hood  and  Little  John.  This  ballad  was 
printed  in  two  copies  of  the  English  Archer,  Paisley,  by  John  Neilson,  1786,  and 
by  N.  Nickson,  Feasegate,  York,  collated  by  Ritson  and  reprinted  in  his  Scottish 
Songs,  1795.  "One  of  the  most  affecting  and  unaffected  of  ballads,"  declares 
Mr.  Gayley. 

Page  315,  No.  166 — The  Kingsitsin  Dunfermline  town.  This  ballad,  presuma- 
bly of  antiquity,  was  first  published  in  a  shorter  version  in  Percy's  Reliques.  Whether 


807 


NOTES 

there  is  an  actual  foundation  in  history  from  which  it  sprang  has  not  been  con- 
clusively determined.  Motherwell  (Minstrelsy  Ancient  and  Modern,  ed.  1827), 
bases  it  upon  the  "melancholy  and  disasterous  fate  of  the  gallant  band  which 
followed  in  the  suite  of  Margaret,  daughter  of  Alexander  HI,  when  she  was 
espoused  to  Eric  of  Norway  (1281).  According  to  Fordun,  in  this  expedition 
many  distinguished  Nobles  accompanied  her  lo  Norway  to  grace  her  nuptials; 
several  of  whom  perished  in  a  storm  while  on  their  return  lo  Scotland."  A  braid 
letter:  i.  e.  open  or  patent,  in  opposition  to  close  rolls  (Percy).  Moon  late  yestreen: 
the  sight  of  the  moon  made  the  bad  omen  (Child). 

Page  319,  No.  167 — It  fell  about  the  Lammas  tide:  This  ballad  is  from  a  MS 
in  the  British  Museum  of  the  sixteenth  century;  and  the  version  inScott'slfj» 
strclsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  1833.  An  account  of  the  battle  is  given  in  Froissart's 
Chronicles.  The  incident  is  a  raid  into  English  territory,  in  August,  1388,  to 
revenge  the  invasion  of  Richard  II  into  Scotland  the  year  before.  A  division 
under  Douglas  marched  over  the  Cheviots,  pillaged  Durham,  and  recrossing  the 
Tyne  halted  before  Newcastle.  Douglas  then  made  a  challenge  to  meet  Percy 
at  Otlerbournc  which  is  about  thirty  miles  northwest  of  Newcastle,  where  the 
combat  of  the  ballad  took  place.     Lammas:  loaf-mass,  the  first  of  August. 

Page  324,  No.  168 — The  Perse  out  of  Northumberland.  From  Ms.  Ashmole 
Bodleian  Library,  about  1550;  reprinted  by  Professor  Skeat  in  his  Siecimenis  of 
English  Literature,  1394-1579,  third  edition,  1880.  The  ballad  was  printed  by 
Percy,  Reliqucs,  1765.  The  origin  of  this  ballad  in  fact  has  many  points  of  simi- 
larity to  that  of  the  Battle  of  Ottcrbourne,  though  a  later  version.  Percy,  how- 
ever, believed  it  to  be  founded  upon  the  battle  of  Piperden,  1435  or  1436.  "The 
differences  in  the  story  of  the  two  ballads,"  says  Professor  Child,  {Eng.  and  Scot. 
Pop.  Bal.,  Part  vi,  p.  304),  "though  not  trivial,  are  still  not  so  material  as  to  for- 
bid us  to  hold  that  both  may  be  founded  upon  the  same  occurrence,  the  Hunting 
of  the  Cheviot  being  of  course  the  later  version,  and  following  in  part  its  own 
tradition,  though  repeating  some  portions  of  the  older  ballad.  According  to 
this  older  ballad,  Douglas  invades  Northumberland  in  an  act  of  public  war;  ac- 
cording to  the  latter,  Percy  takes  the  initiative,  by  hunting  in  the  Scottish  hills 
without  leave  and  in  open  defiance  of  Douglas,  lieutenant  of  the  Marches.  Such 
trespasses,  whether  by  English  or  the  Scots,  were  not  less  common,  we  may  be- 
lieve, than  hostile  incursions,  and  the  one  would  as  naturally  as  the  other,  account 
for  a  bloody  collision  between  the  rival  families  of  Percy  and  Douglas,  to  those 
who  consulted  "old  men"  instead  of  histories:  cf.  stanza  67.  The  older  and  the 
later  ballad  concur  (and  herein  are  in  harmony  with  some  chroniclers,  though 
not  with  the  best)  as  to  Percy  slaying  Douglas.  In  the  older  ballad  Percy  is 
taken  prisoner,  an  incident  which  historj'  must  record,  but  which  is  somewhat  in- 
sipid, for  which  reason  we  might  expect  tradition  to  improve  the  tale  by  assigning 
a  like  fate  to  both  of  the  heroic  antagonists."  In  the  tnaggcr:  in  the  maugre,  i.  e. 
in  spite  of.  So  he:  so  high.  Byckarte  upon  the  bent:  hurried  upon  the  plain. 
Grevis  glcnt:  groves  glanced,  i.  e.  they  glanced  through  the  groves.  Scmblcd 
.  .  .  shear:  assembled  together.  Blew  a  mart:  sounded  a  horn  for  the  dead. 
Armour  glittered  as  did  a  glede:  i.  e.  as  did  burning  gold.  Cast  away:  i.  e.  intend 
to  carry  them  away.  Spears  of  mighty  tree:  of  the  woods.  Bales  fete:  sufferings 
better,  i.  e.  better  our  sufferings. 

Page  335,  No.  169 — O  have  ye na heard  o'  the  fausc  Sakelde?  First  printed  in 
Scott's  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  1802.  The  ballad  is  founded  upon  a 
traditional  border  incident,  celebrating  the  exploits  of  Su-  Walter  Scott  of  Branx- 
holm.  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  which  occurred  in  ."Vpril,  1596.'  William  Armstrong, 
commonly  known  as  Will  of  Kinmont  or  Kinmont  Willie,  a  "nortorious  plun- 
derer" accompanied  Robert  Scott,  deputy  of  the  Laird  of  Beccleuch,  across  the 
border  to  hold  a  conference  with  Mr.  Selkeld,  deputy  of  Lord  Scroop.  English 
Warden  of  the  West  Marches.     The  English,  breaking  the  truce  in  operation  at 

8o8 


NOTES 


such  times,  captured  Kinmont  Willie  on  his  retiuri,  and  refused  to  give  him  up 
after  repeated  demands,  whereupon  Beccleuch,  taking  the  law  in  his  own  hands, 
rescued  liim  after  the  manner  described  in  the  ballad.  Hairibee:  "place  of 
execution  at  Carlisle."     Broken  men:  outlaws. 

Pace  343,  No.  ilO— It  befell  at  Marlynmas.  From  Cotlon  MS  of  the  last 
quarter  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The  ballad  is  founded  on  a  real  event  taking 
place  in  the  North  of  Scotland,  in  November,  1571.  Adam  Gordon  of  Auchin- 
do\vn,  deputy-lieutenant  to  the  Scottish  Qaeen  Mary,  sent  Captain  Car  or  Ker, 
to  reduce  the  house  of  Towie,  belonging  to  one  of  the  houses  of  the  Forbeses,  of 
which  tian  he  was  a  bitter  enemy.  The  house  and  its  inmates,  whose  numbers 
are  variously  given,  were  burned,  as  related  in  the  ballad.  As  Gordon  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  act  of  his  subordinate,  he  is  made  to  figure  in  the  ballad  as  the 
principal  actor.     Busk  and  boun:  i.  e.  up  and  prepare  to  go. 

Page  348,  No.  171 — It  fell  on  a  day,  and  a  bonny  summer  day.  From  a  broad- 
side of  1790,  and  reprinted  by  Finlay  in  his  Scottish  B  allads,  1808.  The  ballad 
related  the  events  of  1640,  when  the  Committee  of  Estates,  of  which  Montrose 
was  a  member,  commissioned  the  Earl  of  Argyle  to  "take  arms  against  certain 
people,  among  whom  was  the  Earl  of  Airly,  as  enemies  to  religion."  In  July, 
while  the  Earl  of  Airly  was  in  England,  and  his  house  under  the  charge  of  his  son 
Lord  Ogilvie,  Argyle  "pillaged,  burned  and  demolished"  it  among  others. 

P.'iGE  350,  No.  172 — When  captaines  courageous,  whom  death  could  not  daunle. 
Pepys  collection,  printed  by  Percy  in  the  Reli/iues.  As  an  historical  personage, 
nothing  is  known  of  Mary  Ambree. 

Page  353,  No.  173 — Hie  upon  Hielands.  This  version  is  from  Motherwell's 
Minstrelsy  Ancient  and  Modern,  1827,  where  the  editor  says,  it  "is  probably  a 
lament  for  one  of  the  adherents  of  the  house  of  Argyle,  who  fell  in  the  battle  of 
Glenivat  on  Thursday,  the  first  day  of  October,  1594."  He  has  not  however  been 
identified. 

Page  354.  No.  174 — Oh,  did  ye  ever  hear  a'  brave  Earl  Bran?  From  Robert 
\\Tiite's  papers.  Of  this  ballad  Professor  Child  says  (Etigl.  and  Scot.  Pop.  Bal. 
Parti,  p.  88),  "Earl  Brand  was  first  given  to  the  world  by  Mr.  Robert  Bell, 
1857  {^Ancient  Poems,  etc.),  has  preserved  most  of  the  incidents  of  a  very  ancient 
story  with  a  faithfulness  unequalled  by  any  ballad  that  has  been  recovered 
from  English  oral  tradition."  The  story  of  the  ballad  is  found  says  Child,  in 
the  "corresponding  Scandinavian  ballad  Ribold  and  Guldhorg."  (See  Eng.  and 
Scot.  Pop.  Bal.  Part  I,  p.  8S).  Another  version  based  upon  a  fragment,  called 
The  Douglas  Tragedy,  was  printed  bv  Scot  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Bor- 
der, 1803. 

P.\GE  357,  No..  175 — O  Johncy  'was  a  brave  knight.  From  Jamieson-Brown 
MS,  In  1679,  Sir  James  Magill  of  Lindores,  performed  a  feat  of  arms  similar  to 
that  described  in  this  ballad.  The  story  has  pomts  of  resemblance  to  Child 
Maurice,  and  Willie  o'  Wmsbiiry.  See  English  and  Scottish  Popular  Ballads, 
Cambridge  ed.   pp.   175,   210. 

Page  362,  No.  176 — Late  at  e'en,  drinkin'  the  nvine.  From  Scott's  Materials 
for  Border  Minstrelsy.  "There  is  no  basis  for  an  identification  of  the  story  with 
any  historical  event.  The  facts  must  have  occurred  often  enough,  and  there  is  a 
similar  stor;/  in  other  ballads."  This  ballad  suggested  The  Braes  of  Yarrow, 
by  William  Hamilton  of  Bangour.  See  Book  of  Georgian  Verse,  p.  191.  Scott 
thought  the  hero  was  Walter  Scott,  third  son  of  Thirlestaine,  slairi  by  Scott  of 
Tushielaw. 

Page  365,  No.  177 — There  were  Iwa  sisters  in  a  bowr.  From  Jamieson- 
Brown  MS.  Another  version  was  printed  in  Wit's  Restor'd,  1658.    "This  is  one 


809 


NOTES 


of  the  very  few  old  ballads,"  says  Professor  Child,  (Eng.  and  Scot.  Pop.  Bal. 
Part  I,  p.  1 18),  "which  are  not  extinct  in  the  British  Isles.  Even  drawing-room 
versions  are  spoken  of  as  current,  generally  traced  to  some  old  n.irse.  who  sang 
them  to  young  ladies.  It  has  been  found  in  England,  Scotland,  Wales,  and 
Ireland,  and  was  very  early  in  print." 

Page  367,  No.  178 — Clerk  Saunders  and  May  Margaret.  From  Herd's  MS., 
and  first  printed  by  Scott  in  his  Minstrelsy  of  Scottish  Border,  1802. 

Page  373,  No.  179 — O  wha  will  shoe  my  fu'  fair  foot?  From  Alexander 
Eraser  Tytler's  Brown  MS.,  WTitten  down  from  "Mrs.  Brown's  recitation,  in 
1800."  It  was  printed  by  Scott  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  1802. 
Scott  says  "Lochroyan  lies  in  Galloway,"  and  that  Burns  in  a  song  Lajvc  Gregor, 
"has  celebrated  the  same  story." 

Page  377,  No.  180 — Childc  Watters  in  his  .■ttahle  stoode.  From  the  Percy 
Folio,  edited  by  Hales  and  Furnivall.  Professor  Gummere  says  (Old  English 
Ballads,  p.  354,  1894),  "The  great  praise  awarded  to  this  ballad  by  Child  and 
Grundtvig  must  not  be  thwarted  in  the  minds  of  the  reader  by  the  impression  of 
irritating  cruelty  in  the  hero  and  irritating  patience  in  the  heroine.  We  must 
take  the  only  point  of  view  recognized  in  ballad-times;  this  done,  and  allowances 
made  for  the  roughness — not  coarseness — of  the  details,  we  shall  be  ready  to  con- 
cede that  no  better  ballad  can  be  found  in  any  tongue." 

Page  383,  No.  181 — It's  narrow,  narrow,  make  your  bed.  From  Scott's 
Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  1802,  "taken  from  the  recitation  of  an  old 
woman  residing  near  Kirkhill,  West  Lothian."  The  slory  of  the  ballad  is  told 
by  Marie  de  France  in  the  Lai  del  Freisne  (1180),  four  hundred  years  earlier  than 
any  manuscript  record.  Braid  her  yellow  hair:  "It  was  an  imperative  custom, 
as  is  well  known,  that  the  married  woman  should  bind  up  her  hair  or  v.-ear  it 
under  a  cap.  while  a  maid  wore  it  loose  or  in  a  braid"  (Child,  note,  Eng.  and 
Scot.  Pop.  Bal.  Part  III,  p.  64). 

Page  388,  No.  182 — Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet.  First  printed^  as  a 
broad-sheet  during  the  reign  of  Charles  I.  It  was  published  by  Percy  in  the 
Reliqiies,  1765,  "with  some  corrections."  The  story  with  differences  in  details 
is  popular  in   Norse  ballads. 

Page  393,  No.  183 — It  was  in  and  about  the  Martinmas  time.  From  Allan 
Ramsay's  Tea  Table  Miscellany,  1740.  Percy  published  it  in  the  Rcliqiics,  with 
"conjectural   emendations." 

P.\ge  394,  No.  184 — Marie  Hamilton's  to  the  kirk  gane.  From  Scott's  Min- 
strelsy of  the  Scottish  Border,  1833.  This  ballad,  Mr.  Lang  says  (.4  Collection 
of  Ballads,  p.  235),  "has  caused  a  great  deal  of  controversy.  Queen  Mary  had 
no  Mary  Hamilton  among  her  Four  Maries.  No  Marie  was  executed  for  child- 
murder.  But  we  know,  from  Knox,  that  ballads  were  recited  against  the  Maries, 
and  that  one  of  Mary's  chamber-women  was  hanged  with  her  lover,  a  pottinger, 
or  apothecary,  for  getting  rid  of  her  infant.  These  last  facts  were  certainly  basis 
enough  for  a  ballad,  the  ballad  echoing,  not  history,  but  rumour,  and  rumour 
adapted  to  the  popular  taste.  Thus  the  ballad  might  have  passed  unchallenged,, 
as  a  surwal,  more  or  less  modified  in  time,  of  Queen  Mary's  period.  But  in 
1719,  a  Mary  Hamilton,  a  maid  of  Honour,  of  Scottish  descent,  was  executed  in 
Russia,  for  infanticide.  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe  conceived  that  this  affair 
was  the  origin  of  the  ballad,  and  is  followed  by  Mr.  Child."  For  a  full  discussion 
of  this  ballad  see  Mr.  Lang's  more  extended  account  in  Blackwood's  Magazine, 
September,  1895,  and  Professor  Child's  English  and  Scottish  Popular  Ballads, 
Part  III,  p.  381. 


8lO 


NOTES 


Page  398,  No.  185 — O  where  Jiae  ye  been  a'  day,  Lord  Dnnald,  my  son?  From 
Kinloch's  Ancient  Scoltish  Ballads.  It  belongs  to  the  group  of  Ijallads  involvrng 
a  domestic  tragedy  tlirough  faithlessness  or  folly  of  true-love  as  here,  of  mother 
(Edward),  of  brother,  of  sister,  of  father,  {Bewick  and  Grahame),  and  of  husband 
{Clerk  Cloven),  etc.  (GummereV  The  ballad  is  also  familiarly  known  as  Lord 
Randal  in  Scott's  version  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scotiish  Border.  It  is  supposed 
that  Lord  Donald  had  been  poisoned  bjj  eating  toads  prepared  as  fishes. 

Page  400,  No.  186 — Why  does  your  brand  sae  drop  wi'  blttde.  From  Percy's 
Rcliqttes,  1765,  "where  the  affectedly  antique  spelling  .  .  .  has  given  rise  to 
vague  suspicions  concerning  the  antiquity  of  the  ballad,  or  the  language"  {Eng. 
and  Scot.  Pop.  Bal.,  Cambridge  Rd.)  Motherwell  printed  a  Scotch  version 
{Minstrelsy  Ancient  and  Modern),  with  refrains.  Of  the  character  of  the  ballad 
see  Note  184  above. 

Page  402,  No.  187 — As  it /ell  one  holy  day.  Appeared  in  117/'.?  Restor'd,  1658. 
It  was  quoted  in  some  old  plays,  notably,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  Knight  of 
tlie  Burning  Pestle,  act.  v,  sc.  3,  1611,  The  Variete,  1649,  and  Sir  William  Daven- 
ant's  The  Wits.  It  belongs  to  the  circle  of  domestic  tragedy  mentioned  in  Note 
184,  above. 

Page  407,  No.  188 — True  Thomas  lay  en  Huntlie  bank.  From  Materials  for 
Border  Minstrelsy,  and  "communicated  to  Sir  Walter  Scott  by  IVIrs.  Christiana 
Greenwood,  London,  May  27,  1S06  .  .  .  from  recitation  of  her  mother  and  her 
aunt  both  then  above  sixty,  who  learned  it  in  their  childhood  from  Kirstan  Scot, 
a  very  old  woman,  at  Longnewton,  near  Jedburgh."  {Eng.  and  Scot.  Pop.  Bal., 
Cambridge   Ed). 

i 

Page  410,  No.  189 — O  I  forbid  you,  maidens  a  .  From  Johnson's  Museum, 
1792,  communicated  by  Burns.  For  an  account  of  the  superstition  in  the  ballad 
see  Sir  Walter  Scott's  On  the  Fairies  of  Popular  Sui<crstition.  Carterhaugh: 
"a  plain  at  the  confluence  of  the  Ettrick  "and  Yarrow  in  Selkirkshire."    (Scott). 

Page  417,  No.  190 — Clerk  Colvill  and  Ms  lusty  dame.  From  Herd's  Ancient 
and  Modern  Scots  Song,  1769. 

Page  419,  No.  191 — There  lived  a  wife  at  Usher's  Well.  From  Scott's  Min- 
strelsy of  the  Scottish  Border,  1802. 

Page  421,  No.  192 — She  sat  down  below  a  thorn.  From  Johnson's  Museum, 
1792.  There  are  other  versions  known  as  The  Cruel  Mother,  and  the  Duke's 
Daughter's  Cruelty.  The  ballad  as  it  remains  is  a  fragment,  and  circulated  as 
a  broad-sheet  about  1690. 

Pace  422,  No.  193 — 0  where  have  you  been,  my  long,  long  love.  From  Scott's 
Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  fifth  cd.  1812. 

Page  425,  No.  194 — There- were  three  ravens  sat  on  a  tree.  First  printed  in 
Thomas  Kavenscroft's  Melismata,  1611. 

Page  426,  No.  195 — As  I  was  walking  all  alane.  From  Scott's  Minstrelsy 
of  the  Scoltish  Border,  1803.    This  is  a  Scottish  version  of  the  Three  Ravens. 

Page  428,  No.  197—0  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray.  From  Sharpc's  Ballad 
Book,  1823.  Tradition  related  that  these  young  ladies,  daughters  of  country- 
men of  Perth,  to  escape  the  plague  which  raged  in  1645,  built  themselves  a  bower 
at  a  place  called  Burn-Braes,  where  they  retired.     After  living  there  some  time, 

8ii 


NOTES 


they  caught  the  infection  from  a  young  gentleman  who  brought  their  provisions 
and  who  was  said  to  have  been  in  love  with  both  ladies.  'I'hcy  were  buried  at 
Dranoch-haugh,  near  the  river  Almond. 

Page  429,  No.  198 — I  ivish  I  tvcre  where  Helen  lie:;.  I'he  second  part  from 
Scott's  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border.  This  ballad  is  founded  on  an  actual 
fact  related  by  Scott.  Helen  Irving,  or  Bell,  daughter  of  the  Laird  of  Kirk- 
connell  "was  beloved  by  two  suitors.  Helen  loved  the  ore  who  was  not  her 
family's  choice,  and  used  to  meet  him  in  the  church-jard  of  Kirkconnell,  'a  ro- 
mantic .spot,  almost  surrounded  by  the  ri\er  Kirtle.'  One  evening  the  rejected 
suitor  'appeared  suddenly  on  the  opfjosite  bank,  and  levelled  his  carbine  at  the 
breast  of  his  rival.  Helen  threw  herself  before  her  lover,  received  in  her  bosom 
the  bullet,  and  died  in  his  arms."  \\  ords.vorth's  Ellen  Irwin  was  inspired  by 
the  same  subject. 

Page  431,  No.  199 — Annan  Water's  wading  deep.  Fro.Ti  the  Materials  for 
Border  Minstrelsy.    Annan  is  a  stream  flowing  into  the  Sol  way  Frith. 

Page  432,  No.  200 — Down  in  yon  garden  siveel  and  gay.  Versions  of  this  song 
was  published  in  Thomt.ison's  Orpheus  Caledonins,  1733,  and  in  C'romek's  Select 
Scottish  Songs.  1810.  There  seems  to  be  no  authoritative  text,  the  one  here 
used,  that  of  Andrew  Lang  in  the  Blue  Book  of  Poetry. 

Page  434,  No.  201 — There  was  a  Maid  came  out  of  Kent.  Quoted  by  Ritson 
in  his  Dissertation  on  Ancient  Songs  and  Music,  in  Ancient  Songs  and  Ballads. 
It  occurs  in  W.  Wager's  The  Longer  thou  livest  the  more  fool  thou  art,  1575. 

Page  434,  No.  202 — 'O  wcll'sme  o'  my  gay  gos.'!-hawk.  From  Jamieson-Brown 
MS.,  and  printed  in  Scott's  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  1802. 

Page  439,  No.  203 — In  Scotland  there  luas  a  bahie  horn.  From  Motherwell's 
MS.  The  incident  of  this  ballad  is  but  the  "catastrophe"  in  the  famous  Gest 
of  King  Horn  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

Page  441,  No.  204 — There  was  a  youth,  and  a  well  beloved  youth.  From 
Percy's  Reliques,  1765. 

Page  443,  No.  205 — Seynt  Stevene  was  a  clerk_  in  Kyng  Hero7vdes  halle. 
Printed  from  a  manuscript  which  preser\es  this  delightful  little  legend, has  been 
judged  by  the  handwriting  to  be  of  the  age  of  Henry  \I.  i Child).  With  boris 
hed  on  honde:  the  Christmas  dish  of  old  England,  brought  into  the  hall  with  much 
ceremonial  and  the  sinking  of  a  carol  with  the  refrain  "Caput  a pri  defer o,'_'  etc. 
Bedlem:  Bethlehem.  Or  thu  gynnyst  to  brede:  "beginnest  to  entertain  capricious 
fancies,  like  a  woman."     (Child). 

Page  447,  No.  206 — These  little  limbs.  The  selections  from  Thomas  Traherne 
in  this  anthology  are  from  The  Poetical  Works  of  Thomas  Traherne  now  first 
Published  from  Original  Manuscripts,  edited  and  published  by  Mr.  Bertram 
Dobell,  at  77  Charing  Cross  Road,  W.  C,  London,  1903.  I  have  expres.=ly 
stated  my  obligation  to  Mr.  Dobell  in  the  Preface,  for  the  kind  privilege  of  us- 
ing these  poems. 

Page  449,  No.  208— Come,  sweet  Lass.     From  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy. 

Page  457,  No.  213 — Sure  man  was  born  to  meditate  on  things.  From  the 
Poetical  Works  of  Thomas  Traherne,  ed.  by  Bertram  Dobell,  London,  1903. 

8X2 


NOTES 


Page  460,  No.  214 — Wilh  horns  and  hounds  I  wahcn  the  day.  From  The 
Secular  Masque,  1700. 

Page  461,  No.  215 — Your  hay  it  is  mouoed,  and  your  corn  is  reaped.  From 
King  Arthur. 

Page  462,  No.  216 — You  twice  ten  hundred  deities.  From  The  Indian  Queen, 
1665. 

Page  463,  No.  217 — Choose  the  darkest  part  of  the  grove.  From  the  Tragedy 
of  (Ediptis,  1679. 

Page  464,  No.  218 — Here,  ye  sullen  powers  below.  From  the  Tragedy  of 
CEdipus,  1679. 

Page  465,  No.  2 1 9 — Old  father  Ocean  calls  my  tide.    From  Albion  and  Albanius. 

Page  466,  No.  220 — From  liarmony,  from  heavenly  harmony.  The  legend  of 
St.  Cecilia  is  plated  in  the  third  century.  She  was  a  Roman  lady  and  Christian, 
martyred  in  the  reign  of  Septimius  Severus,  canonised,  and  made  patron  saint  of 
music.  In  1680,  a  musical  society  was  formed  in  London  for  the  annual  com- 
memoration of  the  day  dedicated  to  her,  the  22d  of  November.  Dryden  wrote 
the  ode  for  1687,  which  was  set  to  music  by  an  Italian  composer,  Draghi.  Jubal: 
"the  father  of  all  such  as  handle  the  harp  and  organ."  Her  organ:  tradition 
credits  St.  Cecilia  with  inventing  the  organ. 

Page  468,  No.  221 — 'Twas  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  wnyi.  This  ode  was 
composed  by  Dryden  for  the  commemoration  of  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  1697,  and  is 
the  most  popular  of  his  poems.  The  subject  chosen  by  the  poet  was  the  feast 
celebrating  Alexander's  conquest  of  Persia  after  the  battle  of  Arbelu,  B.  C.  331. 
Thais:  an  Athenian  woman  of  great  beauty  who  accompanied  Alexander  to  Asia. 
Cleitarchus  relates  that  she  induced  the  hero  to  set  fire  to  the  royal  palace  at  Per- 
sepolis.     Timotheus:  Greek  poet  and  musician. 

Page  475,  No.  222 — When  first  Eternity  stoop' d  down  to  nought.  From  the 
Poetical  Works  of  Thomas  Traherne,  ed,  by  Bertram  Dobell,  London,  1903. 

Page  477,  No.  223 — Ye  sacred  limbs.  From  the  Poetical  Works  of  Thomas 
Traherne,  ed.  by  Bertram  Dobell,  London,  1903. 

Page  498,  No.  232 — You  pleasing  dreams  of  love  and  sweet  delight.  From 
Tyrannick  Love. 

Page  499,  No.  233 — Love  in  fantastic  triumph  sate.  From  Abdclazcr,  or  the 
Moor's  Revenge,  act  i,  sc.  1.     1667. 

Page  502,  No.  236 — Kitty's  charming  voice  and  face.  From  Dodsley's  A 
Collection  of  Poems,  vol.  vi,  326,  1782. 

Page  503,  No.  237 — He  or  ihe  that  hopes  to  gain.  From  Mr.  BuUen's  Specu- 
lum Amantis,  1889,  where  it  is  first  printed  from  Hal.  MS.  19\1,fol.  86. 

Page  503,  No.  2i8—0  Love!  that  stronger  art  than  ',.iiir.  From  The  Lucky 
Chance,  act  iii,  sc.  1.     1687. 

Page  504,  No.  239 — /  did  but  look  and  love  awhile.     From  Venice  Preserved. 

Page  508,  No.  243 — Lady,  on  your  eyes  I  gazed.    From  Wit's  Recreations,  1663. 

813 


NOTES 


Page  519,  No.  255 — Ladies,  though  to  your  conquering  eyes.     From   The 
Comical  Revenge;  or  Love  in  a  Tub,  act.  v,  sc.  3.     1664. ' 

Page  519,  No.  256 — Flavia  the  least  and  slighted  toy.     From  the  Gentleman's 
Journal,  March,  1692. 

Page  523,  No.  261 — Love  thee!  good  sooth,  not  1.     From  Henry  Lawes'  Airs, 
1669. 

Page  524,  No.  262 — When  I  a  lover  pale  do  see.     From  New  Airs  and  Dia- 
logues, composed  for  Voices  and  Viols,  1678. 

Page  528,  No.  265 — Jockey  was  a  dowdy  lad.     From  the  Campaigners,  1698. 

Page   529,   No.   266 — Ladies,  farewell,   I  must  retire.     From   The  English 
Monsieur,   1674. 

Page  533,  No.  272 — Fairest   isle,  all  isles   excelling.     From  King  Arthur, 
1691. 

Page  534,  No.  273 — Ah,  hoiv  siucct  it  is  to  love!  From  Tyrannick  Love,  1670. 

Page  535,  No.  275 — How  happy  the  lover.    From  King  Arthur,  1691. 

Page  536,  No.  276 — In  vain,  Clemene,  you  bestow.     Contributed  by  Dorset 
to  Southerne's  Sir  Anthony  Love,  1691. 

Page  538,  No.  278 — More  love  or  more  disdain  I  crave.     From  New  Airs  and 
Dialogues,  composed  for  Voices  and  Viols,  1678. 

Page  538,  No.  279— O  what  a  plague  is  lovcl     From  Wit's  Reslor'd.     1658. 
Another  and  inferior  version  is  printed  in  Chappel's  Music  of  the   Olden  Time. 

Page  542,  No.  281 — /  feed  a  fame  wiihin,  which  so  torments  me.     From 
Secret  Love.     1668. 

Page  544,  No.  283 — You  charmed  me  not  with  that  fair  face.     From  An  Even- 
ing's Love.     1671. 

Page  545,  No.  284 — Tell  me,  Thyrsis,  tell  your  anguish.     From  The  Duke  of 
Guise.     1683. 

Page  552,  No.  292 — If  she  be  not  as  kind  as  fair.     From  The  Comical  Re- 
venge or  Love  in  a  Tub,  act  ii,  sc.  3.     1664. 

Page  553,  No.  294 — Take  Time,  my  dear,  ere  Time  takes  wing.     From  Mel- 
pomene, or  the  Muses'  Delights.     1678. 

Page  555,  No.  297 — Farewell,  ungrateful  traitor.     From  The  Spanish  Friar, 
1681. 

Page  559,  No.  301 — Can  life  be  a  blessing.     From  Troilus  and  Cressida.   1679. 

Page  559,  No.  302 — A  thousand  martyrs  I  have  made.    From   The  Lucky 
Chance.     1687. 

Page  562,  No.  305 — No,  no,  poor  suffering  heart,  no  change  endeavour.    From 
Cleomenes.     1692. 


814 


NOTES 


Page  567,  No.  310 — In  London  stands  a  famous  pile.  From  The  Delights  of 
the  Bottle.     1720. 

Page  573,  No.  314 — Hark!  how  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  comes!  From  The 
Squire  of  Alsatis.     1688. 

Page  588,  No.  324 — Ah,  fading  joy!  how  quickly  art  thou  past.  From  The 
Indian  Emperor.     1685. 

Page  592,  No.  328 — Sleep,  ye  great  Manes  of  the  dead!  From  Brutus  and 
Alba.     1678. 

Page  596,  No.  333 — Thou  youngest  virgin-daughter  of  the  skies.  The  lady 
commemorated  in  this  elegy  was  "Miss"  Killigrcw,  daughter  of  Dr  Henry  Killi- 
grevv,  Jilaster  of  Savoy,  and  one  of  the  Prebendaries  of  Westminster.  She  dis- 
played great  talent  in  painting  and  music;  was  maid  of  Honour  to  the  Duchess  of 
York,  and  died  of  the  small-pox,  in  her  twenty-fifth  j-car,  in  1685.  Her  Poems 
were  published  after  her  death.  Our  martial  king:  James  II,  whose  portrait  she 
painted.  Our  phtenLx  queen:  Mary  of  Est e:  whose  portrait  was  also  painted  by 
the  young  lady.  Orinda  died:  Kalherine  Philips,  the  'Matchless  Orinda'who 
died  of  the  small-pox  in  1664,  in  her  thirty-third  year. 

Page  618,  No.  340 — Exert  t!iy  'mice,  sweet  harbinger  of  Spring.  The  text  of 
this  poem,  and  other  selections  included  in  this  anthology,  are  from  The  Poems 
of  Anne,  Countess  of  Wincliilsca,  edited  by  Myra  Reynolds,  Chicago,  1903. 

Page  629,  No.  350 — O  ruddier  than  the  cherry.     From  Acis  and  Galatea,  1732. 

Page  630,  No.  352 — /  smile  at  Love  and  all  its  arts.    From  The  Relapse,    1696. 

Page  641,  No.  365 — With  my  frailty,  don't  upbraid  me.  From  Semele,  an 
Opera,     1710. 

Page  660,  No.  384 — 'Twos  when  the  seas  were  roaring.  From  The  Beggars' 
Opera,  act  ii,  sc.  8.     1728. 

Page  701,  No.  397 — Long  hast  thou  friend,  been  absent  from  thy  soil.  Withers 
the  good  .  .  .  Facetious  Dis)i€y:  Major-Gencral  Withers  and  Colonel  Disney 
are  buried  together  in  the  same  grave  in  the  Cloisters  of  Westminster.  Sir  Paul 
Methuen:  secretary  of  state,  1716-17.  Arthur:  Arthur  Moore,  Commissioner  of 
Plantations,  and  father  of  James  Moore  Smyth  (Courthope).  Worltey:  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Alontagu.  The  fair-haired  MartSia  and  1  cresa  brown:  the  Blount 
sisters.  Madge  Bcllcnden  .  .  .  and  smiling  Mary:  daughters  of  Lord  Bellenden. 
Chcerjul  Duchess:  the  Duchess  of  Hamilton.  Decent  Scudmore:  Frances,  daugh- 
ter of  Lord  Digby.  Wincliilsca:  Anne,  Countess  of  Winchilsca.  Miss  Howe: 
Sophia,  daughter  of  General  Emanuel  Howe  and  grand-daughter  of  Prince 
Rupert  by  his  natural  daughter  Ruperta.  Frolic  Bicknctl  and  her  sister  young: 
Mrs.  Bicknell  and  Miss  Younger,  actresses.  Famed  Biickingliam:  John  Shef- 
field, Duke  of  liuckingham.  Bathurst:  .Allien  Bathurst,  Pope's  friend.  Goodly 
Bruce:  Charles,  Lord  Bruce.  Walkins:  Henry  Watkins,  secretary  to  the  Dutch 
embassy.  Lewis:  Erasmus  Lewis.  Laughlon:  John  Lawton,  Earl  of  Halifax's 
brother-in-law.  Warwick:  Addison's  stepson.  Generous  Graggs:  James  Graggs, 
Sweet  St.  John,  cannot  I  find  tliec/  Lord  Bolingbroke  was  exiled  at  this  time  in 
France.  Harcotirt:  Simon,  Lord  Harcourt.  Carlton  and  Chandos:  George  Gran- 
ville, Lord  Lansdowne  and  James  Brydges,  Duke  of  Chandos.  Hanmer:  Sir 
Thomas  Tianmcr,  Speaker  of  .\nne's  last  Parliament.  Harley:  Edward,  after- 
wards. Earl  of  Oxford.  Friendly  Carylls:  who  subscribed  largely  to  Pope's ///(<3(/. 
Arbuthnot:  Dr.  ^Vrbuthnot.    Kneller:  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  the  portrait  painter. 


8i5 


NOTES 


Thee  Jervas:  Charles  Jervas,  another  portrait  painter.  Darlneuf:  Charles  Dart- 
neuf,  a  noted  epicure.  Robert  Dodsley:  xhn  ■poet.  /<"or(f.- Charles  Ford,  a  corre- 
spondent of  Swift  whose  influence  won  him  patronage.  Cheney:  Dr.  George 
Cheync  of  Bath.  Wanley:  Humplirey  Wanley,  Lord  Harley's  librarian.  Evans: 
Dr.  Abel  Evans  of  St.  John's  College,  O.xford.  Young:  Edward  YounK,  author 
of  Night  Thoughts.  Booth:  tragic  actor.  Mawbert:  James  Francis  Ivlawbert, 
a  portrait  painter.  Digby:  Robert  Digby  who  "was  so  delicate  that  he  had  to 
take  asses'  milk."  Southern:  Thomas  Southern,  the  dramatist.  Tickell: 
Thomas  Tickell. 

Page  710,  No.  399 — Shut,  shut  the  door  good  John!  fatigii'd,  I  said.  Dr. 
Arbuthnot  to  whom  this  epistle  was  addressed  was  a  "Scotch  physician,  who 
came  to  London,  and  originally  taught  mathematics.  But  being  accidentally 
called  in  to  attend  Prince  George  of  Denmark,  at  Epsom,  he  became  his  High- 
ness's  physician,  and  Queen  Anne's  also.  He  was  author  of  many  satirical  and 
political  works;  he  wTote  also  on  natural  history  and  mathematics.  His  chief 
work  was  one  entitled  'Table  of  Ancient  Weights  and  Measures.'  He  engaged 
with  Pope  and  Swift  to  write  a  satire  on  human  learning  called  'Memoirs  of 
Martin  Scriblerus,'  but  the  project  was  not  carried  out.  Arbuthnot  was  a  man 
of  gi-eat  sweetness  of  temper,  and  had  much  more  learning  than  either  Pope  or 
Swift.  It  is  known  that  he  gave  many  hints  to  Pope,  Gay,  and  Swift  for  some  of 
the  sterling  parts  of  their  works.  He  frecjuently  and  ably  defended  the  cause  of 
revelation  against  Bolingbroke  and  Chesterfield."  (Wharton).  John:  JohnSerle, 
Pope's  servant.  The  Mint:  Southwark;  in  the  time  of  Henry  VDL  there  was  a 
Mint  there.  Debtors  and  criminals  retired  here  where  they  were  exempt  from 
arrest;  they  could  leave  it  on  Sundays.  A  parson:  Laurence  Eusden,  who  was 
poet  laureate  from  1718  to  1730;  he  was  a  preacher  addicted  to  drink.  Giddy 
son:  James  Moore  Smyth,  son  of  Arthur  Moore,  who  disagreeing  with  his  father 
took  the  surname  of  his  grandfather.  Cormis:  said  to  be  Lord  Robert  Walpole, 
whose  wife  left  him  in  1734.  Pillholcon:  is  said  to  stand  for  the  author 
of  Welsted.  Curll:  the  well  known  publisher  and  bookseller.  Colley:  Colley 
Cibber,  the  hero  of  the  Dunciad.  His  butchers  Henley,  alluding  to  Orator 
Henley,  who  it  is  said  on  Sundays  declaimed  on  religious  subjects,  and  on 
\Vednesdays,  on  the  sciences.  His  audiences  were  chiefly  butchers  in  New- 
port Market  and  Butcher  Row.  Moore:  already  mentioned,  often  led  Masonic 
processions.  To  one  Bishop  Pliilips  seem  a  wil:  Bishop  Boulter,  Primate  of 
Ireland,  and  Ambrose  Philips'  friend  and  patron.  Amnion's  great  son:  Alexander 
the  Great.  Mara:  Virgil;  Publius  \'ergilius  Maro.  Cranville:  George  Gran- 
ville, Lord  Lansdowne.  Walsh:  William  Walsh,  poet,  critic,  and  gentleman  of 
fashion,  Pope's  early  patron,  who  gave  him  the  advice  to  "be  correct."  Garth: 
Sir  Samuel  Garth  the  poet.  Sheffield:  John  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckingham- 
shire. Mitred  Rochester:  Francis  Atterbury,  Bishop  of  I^ochcster.  St.  John's 
self:  Lord  Bolingbroke.  Burnets,  Oldmi.xons,  and  Cookes:  "Authors  of  secret 
and  scandalous  history."  (Warton).  The  bard:  Ambrose  Philips,  he  translated 
a  book  lulled  Persian  Tales.  Tate:  Nahum  Tate,  poet  laureate,  1692.  Bufo: 
Charles  ^iontagu.  Earl  of  Halifax.  Tell  it  on  his  tomb:  Pope  WTote  the  epitaph 
on  Gay  in  \\'estminster  Abbey.  Quecnsbury  -weeping:  The  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Queensbury  w'ere  close  and  intimate  friends  of  Gay  with  whom  he  lived  the 
later  years  of  his  life.  Dennis:  John  Dennis,  indifferent  poet,  dramatist,  and 
critic.  Balbus:  Earl  of  Kinnoul.  Sir  Will:  Sir  William  Vonge.  Bubo:  George 
Bubb  Doddington,  Lord  Melcombe.  Dean  and  silver  bell:  Referring  to  an  in- 
terpretation put  upon  certain  lines  in  Epistle  iv  of  the  Moral  Essays.  "Meaning 
the  man  who  wovdd  have  persuaded  the  Duke  of  Chandos  that  Mr.  P.  meant  him 
in  those  circumstances  ridiculed'in  the  epistle  on  Taste."  See  Mr.  Pope's  letter 
to  the  Earl  of  Burlington  concerning  this  matter.  (Pope).  Canons:  the  house 
of  the  Duke  of  Chandos.  Sporiis:  John  Lord  Hervey,  .secretary  of  state,  friend 
of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Alontagu,  in  collaboration  with  whom  he  satirised 
Pope.      Japhet:  Japhet  Cooke,  alias  Sir  Peter  Stranger.      Knight  of  the  post: 

8i6 


NOTES 


"The  so-called  'Knights  of  the  Post'  stood  about  the  sheriff's  pillars  near  the 
Courts  in  readiness  to  swear  anything  for  pay."  (Ward).  ^  Sappho:  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montagu.  Welslcd's  //c- "  This  man  had  the  impudence  to  tell 
in  print,  that  Mr.  P.  had  occasioned  a  lady's  death,  and  to  name  a  person  he 
never  heard  of.  He  also  published  that  he  libelled  the  Duke  of  Chandos;  with 
whom  (it  was  added)  that  he  had  lived  in  familiarity,  and  received  from  him 
a  present  of  five  hundred  pounds:  the  falsehood  of  both  which  is  known  to 
his  Grace.  Mr.  Pope  never  received  any  present,  farther  than  the  subscrip- 
tion for  Homer,  from  him,  or  from  any  great  man  whatsoever."     (Pope). 

Pace  723,  No.  401 — As  RochcfoucaitU  his  maxims  drcn'.  The  poem  was  oc- 
casioned by  Swift's  reading  the  following  Maxim  in  Rochefoucault:  "Dans 
I'adversile  de  nos  mcilhurs  amis,  nous  Iroiivons  loujonrs  qnclqne  chose,  qui  ne  nous 
deplail  pas."  Si.  John:  Lord  Bolingbroke.  Pultcncy:  William  Pulteney,  Earl 
of  Bath.  Old  vertigo,  disease  from  which  Swift  suffered  all  his  life,  and  which 
eventually  culminated  in  the  madness  of  his  latter  years.  Lady  Suffolk:  mistress 
of  George  II.  The  medals  were  forgot:  the  Queen  when  Princess  of  Wales,  had 
promised  Swift  a  present  of  medals,  but  never  kept  it.  Charlres:  Francis  Char- 
teris,  a  notorious  scoundrel  of  the  time.  To  build  a  house:  Swift  left  his  money 
to  endow  an  asylum  for  tne  insane  in  Dublin. 

Page  747,  No.  406 — A  trifling  song  you  shall  hear.  From  Bcau.-c'  Stratagem, 
1707. 

Page  783,  No.  424 — Kind  companion  of  my  youth.  From  Dodsley's  --1  Col- 
lection of  Poems.     1748. 

Page  786,  No.  426 — //,  dumb  loo  long,  the  drooping  Muse  hath  stayed.  This 
elegy,  prefixed  to  the  first  volume  of  Tickell's  edition  of  Addison's  Works  (six 
vols.  1721),  is  addressed  to  Addison's  stepson,  the  Earl  of  Warwick.  Next  thy 
loved  Montagu:  Charles  Montagu,  Earl  of  Halifax,  Addison's  first  patron,  near 
whose  tomb,  in  the  Chapel  of  Henry  VII,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  Addison  was 
bUried.  Craggs:  the  younger  James  Craggs,  who  succeeded  Addison  as  Secre- 
tary of  State,  and  to  whose  patronage  he  commended  Tickell  at  his  death. 

Page  790,  No.  427 — What  bcck'ning  ghost  along  the  moonlight  shade.  The 
lady  of  this  elegy  has  not  been  identified,  though  the  commentators  of  Pope  in 
the  eighteenth  century  each  tell  a  different  story.  In  a  note  to  the  poem  himself, 
Pope  says:  'See  the  Duke  of  Buckingham's  verses  to  a  lady  designing  to  retire 
into  a  monastery  compared  with  Mr.  Pope's  letters  to  several  ladies.  She  seems 
to  be  the  same  person  whose  unfortunate  death  is  the  subject  of  this  poem." 
The  whole  is  considered  an  invention  of  Pope's. 


817 


GLOSSARY 


Aboon,  above 

Admire,  wonder  at 

Advowson,  the  revision  of  a  spiritual 
promotion,  and  signifies  in  our  com- 
mon law  a  right  to  present  a  clergy- 
man to  a  Benefice.  (Berdan), 
used   to   signify   future  possession. 

AiRNS,  irons 

Amain,  lower 


Carp,  talk 

Case,  cage 

Cast,  intend 

Channerin',  fretting 

Consent,  harmony 

Consort,  Latin:  consortium,  society 

Corbies,  ravens 

Crude,  unripe 

CuRCH,  kerchief 


Bale,  mischief  sorrow 

llAl.l.up,    front    or    ilap    of   breeches 

Band,  bound 

Bane,  Ijone 

Basnets,  helmets 

Battening,  feeding 

Befali.e,  befits 

Belive,  quickly 

Bent,  field,  plain 

Bergamot,  a  pear 

Bested,  help,  avail 

Big,  to  build 

Birk,  birch 

Blame,  wrong 

Blane,  stopped 

Boune,  make  ready 

Bout,  bend,  turn 

Boutesel,  French  boute-selle,  bonier 
to  put,  sdk\  saddle :  a  trumpet 
call  warning  knights  or  cavalry  to 
put  on  the  saddle. 

Buskit,  attired 

Buske,  bush 

But,  rude,  merely 

Buxom,  spirited,  debonair 

Brittling,  cutting  up 

Brome,  broom 

Brook,  preserve 

Bvckarte,  hurried 

Bylle,  battle-axe 

Byre,  cow-house 

Call,  cold 

Captived,  captivated 
Capull-Hyde,  Horse-hide 


Deal,  bit 

Descent,  Latin:  deceus:  comely, 
handsome 

Deodands,  forfeits  to  Gods 

Den,  hollow 

DiGHT,  disposed  of 

Distrain,   to  make  seizure  for  debt 

Dyghtande,   preparing,   in   prepara- 
tion 

Draw,  inhale 

Dree,  endure 

Drumlie,  gloomy 

Drury,  dowry 

Even  Cloth,  fine  cloth 

Fadge,  hag 

Fail,  turf 

Fare,  doings 

Farley,  strange 

Felone,  traitor,  rebel 

Fend,  keep,  support 

Ferlies,  marvels 

Fettled,  make  ready 

Find,  end 

Finikin,    fine,    handsomely    dressed 

Flashy,  insipid,  tasteless 

Flatter'd,  tossed  about 

Fley'd,  frightened 

Fond,ly:   foolish,  foolishly 

For  Piling,  to  keep  clear 

Forced,  fated 

Forehammers,  sledge-hammers 

Free,  precious 

Free,  noble 


819 


GLOSSARY 


Feeits,  ill  omens 
Freyke,  warrior 
Furs,*  furrows 

Gadding,  straggling 

Gar,  make 

Gare,  hem 

Gake,  gore 

Gard,  made 

Gaudy,  joyful 

Gin,  latch 

Gleat,  gleamed 

Glent,  glanced 

Golett  of   ye  Hode,   throat,   part 

covering  the  throat 
Grat,  wept 
Greet,  cry 
Grevis,  groves 
Groom,  man 
Gryte,  great 

Harp  and  Carp,  chat 

Hause,  neck 

Hautboys,     Fr.  hautbois;  Musical 

instrument 
Hente,  caught 

Heriot,  a  vassal's  tribute  to  his  lord 
Kerry,  harry 
HiGHT,  promise 
Hooi.Y,  slowly,  gently 

Indi\  idual,  inseparable 
Indu'th,  endoweth 

Jaw,  wave 

Jimp,  slender,  trim 

Jow,  stroke 

Kale,  broth 
Kaiies,  combs 

Lancepesade,  lowest  officer  in  foot 
company,  commanding  ten  soldiers 
Lack,  ease,  dowie,  sad 
Lake,  grave 
Lap,  sprang 
Lawing,  reckoning 
Lear,  lying 
Let,  hinder,  stop 
Leven,  lawn 
Lift,  sky 
Lin,  to  cease 

List,   desire,   to  be  dispose 
Lowe,  flame 
Lowe,  small  hill 
LucKETS,  sweetmeats 
Lynde,  Lyne,  linden,  tree 

820 


Margent,  margin 
Make,  mate,  husband 
Meany,  company 
Monand,  moaning 
MuiR,  moor 
Myllan,  steel 

Nice,  coy,  squeamish 

Palmer,   pilgrim,   tramp,  vagabond, 

beggar 
Pallions,  pavilions,  tents 
Parley,  speech 
Passe,  limits,  extent 
Pickering,  skirmishing 
Pistolette,  pistol 

Quit,  requited 

Ragged,  rugged 
Rathe,  early 
Read,  explain 
Reacheles,  reckless 
Rebeck,    medieval    musical    instru- 
ment, earliest  form  of  violin 
Rede,  advice 
Reiver,  robber 
Regealing,  re-freezing 
Row,  ED,  wrap,  wTapped 
Row-Footed,  rough-footed 

Sad,  sober,  serious 

Sark,  shirt 

ScAPYD,  hurt 

ScRANNELL,  slight,  thin 

Secure,  Latin  securus,  free  from  care 

Sen,  when 

Sequacious,  following 

Shamefaced,  modest 

Shawes,  woods 

Shear,  at  once 

Shete,  short 

Sheen,  shoes 

Sheugh,  furrow 

Shradds,  opening  in  a  wood 

Shrindled,  sparkled 

Shroggs,  slirubs 

SiLL\%     harmless,     innocent,     simple 

SiTH,  since 

Skeely',  skilful 

Slade,  valley 

Slaiked,  loosened,  i.  e.  took  off 

Sleet,  slat 

Slogan,  war-cry 

Sloken,  slake 

Slon,  slay 

Slough,  slew 

Sparred,  shut 


GLOSSARY 


Shauld,  shoulder 

Splent,  armour 

Sprent,  spurted 

Spurn,  retaliation 

Spvrred,  asked,  inquired 

Starkest,  strongest 

Stear,  stir 

Sterne,  arose 

Steven,  voice 

Stint,  stop 

SiouR,  fight 

Strayght,  narrow 

Strete,  street 

Stye,   small   thoroughfare,   alley 

Swakked,  smote 

Swapped,  smote 

SwEAVENS,  dreams 

Syke,  march 

Tear,  injury 

Tett,  tuft,  lock  or  knot  of  hair 

The,  Thee,  they 

The,  prosper,  tlirive 

Theek,  thatch 

Thir,  their,  these,  those 

Thole,  endure 

Threw,  throve 

Throly,  strenuously,  doggedly 

Tift,  puff 

Tow,  rope 

Town,  stead 

ToYES,  trifles,  vanities 

Tree,  wood,  woods 

Trew,  trust 

Twin'd,  deprived,  parted 


Uncouth,  unknown 
Undershrieve,  under-sheriff 
Unreproved,  unreprovable,  innocent 
Unrooted,  uprooted 

Wame,  womb 

Wane,  crowd 

Wanton,  playful 

Wardle's  Make,  life-mate 

Warisone,  reward 

Weal,  wing 

Weed,  garment 

Weeds,    garments,    now   confined   to 

garment  of  widows 
Welt,  to  have  power  over  commanded 
Wfx,  wax,  grow 
Whist,  hushed 
White-Thorn,  hawthorn 
Wiohty,  nimble 
Win,  make 
Wouche,  injury 
WoNS,  dwells 

Wrocken,  Wroken,  revenged 
WuD,  mad 
Wyld,  deer 

Yate,  gate 
Yclept,  called 
Your  Lane,  alone 

Zade,  went 
Zafe,  ready 
Zatis,  yates 
Ze,  yea 
Zemen,  yeomen 


821 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Anonymous 

We  must  not  Part  as  Others  do 35 

Lord  Strafford's  Meditations  in  the  Tower 159 

Epitaph  (He  whom  Heaven  did  call  awav) 247 

A  Pagan  Epitaph   ." 249 

Epitaph  (In  this  marble  casket  lies) 250 

Epitaph  (She  on  this  claven  pillow  laid  her  head) 250 

Robin  Hood  and  Little  John 259 

Robin  Hood  and  the  King 265 

Robin  Hood  and  .-Ulan  A  Dale 275 

Robin  Hood  Kcsruing  the  Widow's  Three  Sons 279 

Robin  Hood  and  the  Monk 284 

Robin  Houd  and  the  Butcher 298 

Robin  Hood  and  Guy  of  Gisborne 302 

Robin  Hood's  Death  and  Burial 312 

Sir  Patrick  Spens 315 

The  Battle  of  Otterbourne 319 

The  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot 324 

Kinmont  Willie 335 

Captain  Care,  or  Edom  o'  Gordon 343 

The  Bonnie  House  of  Airly. 348 

Mary  Ambree 350 

Bonnie  George  Campbell 353 

Earl  Brand 354 

Johney  Scot 357 

The  Dowy  Houms  of  Yarrow 362 

The  Twa  Sisters 365 

Clerk  Saunders 367 

Love  Gregor:  or,  the  Lass  of  Lochroyan 373 

Child  Waters 377 

Fair  Annie 383 

Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet 388 

Bonny  Barbara  Allan 393 

The  Queen's  Marie 394 

Lord  Donald 398 

Edward   400 

Little  Musgrave  and  Lady  Barnard 402 

Thomas  the  Rhymer 407 

Tarn  Lin 410 

Clerk  Colvill 417 

The  Wife  of  Usher's  Well 419 

Fine  Flowers  in  the  X'alley 42 1 

The  Daemon  Lover 422 

The  Three  Ravens 425 

The  Twa  Corbies 426 

A  Lykc-Wakc  Dirge 427 


823 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray 428 

Burd  Helen 429 

Annan  Water 43 1 

W'illien  Drowned  in  Yarrow 4.32 

There  was  a  Maid  came  out  of  Kent 434 

The  Gav  Goshawk 434 

Hind  Horn 439 

The  Bailiff's  Daughter  of  Islington 441 

St.  Stephen  and  Herod 443 

Love  will  Find  out  a  Way 492 

The  Plaything  Changed 502 

He  or  she  that  Hopes  to  Gain 503 

On  the  Eyes  and  Breasts  of  the  Lady  on  whom  he  was  EnamoiU"ed  508 

When  I  a  Lover  pale  do  see 524 

Phillida  Flouts  me 538 

A  Pastoral  Song 550 

Fading  Beauty 553 

Addison,  Joseph  (1672-1719),  was  born  at  his  father's  rectory,  Milston, 
near  Amesbury,  Wilts,  and  educated  at  Charterhouse  and  Queen's 
College,  Oxford.  In  1698,  he  accepted  a  fellowship  at  Magdalen 
College,  and  became  widely  known  for  his  classical  scholarship,  and 
for  writing  and  publishing  Latin  translations.  Late  in  1699,  Addi- 
son left  England  for  France,  and  after  a  short  visit  to  Paris,  he  settled 
at  Blois  where  he  remained  nearly  a  year  mastering  the  French  lan- 
guage. Leaving  Blois  he  travelled  in  Europe  principally  through 
Italy,  ^siting  with  much  feeling  the  literary  land-marks  of  Latin 
literature.  Returning  to  England  in  1703,  he  lived  in  retirement 
owing  to  his  strained  financial  condition,  but  in  1706,  he  re- 
reived  the  under-secretaryship  in  the  office  of  Sir  Charles  Hedges, 
beginning  his  political  career  during  which  he  held  many  lucrative 
ofiices.  In  October,  1709,  he  began  contributing  to  the  Tatlcr  which 
Steele  had  established  in  April  of  the  same  year;  and  when  in  1711, 
the  Spectator  was  published  after  the  cessation  of  the  Tatler,  a  few 
months  earlier,  Addison  contributed  to  it,  creating  in  its  columns  the 
famous  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.  On  April  14,  1713,  Addison  pro- 
duced his  play  Cato,  at  Drury  Lane,  v,'hich  despite  its  many  weak- 
nesses, was  a  great  success.  In  August  1716,  Addison  was  married 
to  the  Countess  of  Warv.-ick,  which  union  was  declared  not  to  have 
been  very  happy. 

An  Account  of  the  Greatest  English  Poets 696 

To  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  on  his  picture  of  the  King 707 

Divine  Ode .• 775 

Andeewes,  Lancelot  (1555-1626),  Bishop  of  Winchester,  was  born  in 
the  parish  of  All  Hallows,  Barking,  and  educated  at  Pembroke  Hall, 
Cambridge.  Entering  holy  orders  in  1580,  he  attended  the  Earl  of 
Huntingdon,  President  of  the  North,  as  chaplain.  In  1589,  he  obtained 
the  li:-ing  of  St.  Giles,  and  after  twice  refusing  a  bishopric,  he  accepted 
the  see  of  Chichester  in  1605.  He  was  translated  in  1 609,  to  Ely,  and 
in  1619,  to  Winchester.  In  his  day  Andrewes  was  eminent  as  a 
preacher  and  writer,  and  though  he  published  little  during  his  life- 
time, his  works  are  now  of  considerable  bulk,  the  most  important 
being  the  "Fortura  Torti." 
Phillis  Inamorata 49 

Atterbury,  Francis  (1662-1732),  Bishop  of  Rochester,  was  born  at 


824 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Milton  or  Middleton  Keynes,  in  Buckinghamshire,  and  educated  at 
Westminster — then  under  the  famous  Dr.  Busby — and  Christ  Church, 
Oxford.  In  1682,  he  published  a  Latin  translation  of  Dryden's 
"Absalom  and  Achitophel,"  and  in  1684,  an  " Anthologia,"  being  a 
selection  of  Latin  poems.  He  was  made  Bishop  of  Rochester  in 
1713.  In  1720,  Atterbury  was  accused  of  Jacobite  sympathies  and 
committed  to  the  Tower,  where  he  remained  for  seven  months.  He 
was  brought  before  the  House  of  Lords  for  trial,  found  guilty  upon 
"curious  evidence,"  and  exiled  from  the  realm  in  1723.  After  living 
nine  years  on  the  continent,  during  which  he  "threw  himself  heart 
and  soul  in  James'  causes,  acting  as  general  adviser  and  supervisor 
of  his  affairs  at  home  and  abroad,"  he  died  in  the  South  of  France. 
Written  on  a  White  Fan  borrowed  from  Miss  Osborne,  afterwards  his 
wife 519 

Ayres,  Philip  (1638-1712),  was  born  at  Cottingham,  and  educated  at 
St.  John's  College,  Oxford.  He  became  tutor  in  the  family  of  Mon- 
tagu Garrard  Drake,  of  Agmondesham,  Bucks,  where  he  remained 
till  his  death.  He  was  the  author  of  many  books  and  pamphlets,  and 
translated  a  great  deal  of  verse  from  various  languages.  His  best- 
known  work  is  "Emblemata  Amatoria.  Emblems  of  Love.  In 
four  languages,  Lat,  Engl.  Ital.,  Fr."     1683 

Love's  New  Philosophy 489 

On  Lydia  Distracted 521 

On  a  Fair  Beggar 522 

Baker,  Henry  (1698-1774),  was  born  in  London,  son  of  a  clerk  in  chan- 
cery. At  fifteen  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  book-seller.  He  became 
interested  in  the  education  of  deaf  mutes,  originated  a  systein,  and 
successfully  engaged  in  it  as  a  profession.  The  success  of  his  system 
attracted  the  attention  of  Defoe,  whose  daughter  Soijhia  he  married 
in  1729.  In  1723,  he  published  "Original  Poems;"  and  in  1737, 
issued  in  two  volumes  "Medulla  Poetraum  Romanorum,"  a  selec- 
tion from  the  "Roman  Poets  with  Translations."  In  1728,  under 
the  name  of  Henry  Stonecastle,  he  began  with  Defoe  the  "Universal 
Spectator  and  Weekly  Journal."  He  was  a  fellow  of  the  Society  of 
Antiquaries,  and  of  the  Royal  Society,  for  his  distinguished  services 
as  a  naturalist. 
The  Declaimer 642 

Baxter,  Richard  (1615-1691),  Presbyterian  divine,  was  born  at  Eaton- 
Constantine,  near  Shrewsbury,  in  Shropshire.  He  attended  a  free 
school  at  Wroxcter,  but  did  not  receive  an  academic  training,  which 
in  later  life  he  deplored.  Leaving  the  free  school  he  was  plaicd  under 
the  tuition  of  Richard  Wickstead,  chaplain  to  the  Council  at  Ludlow. 
From  Ludlow  at  the  advice  of  his  tutor  he  attached  himself  at  court, 
but  the  experience  so  disgusted  him,  that  there  was  rekindled  in  him 
an  old  determination  to  enter  the  ministry.  His  long  and  varied  career 
as  a  non-conformist  preacher  was  full  of  turbulence,  but  he  exerted 
great  inlluence  with  the  masses  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  He 
suffered  many  wrongs  and  persecutions  under  Charles  II,  and  James 
11.  His  books  on  religious  questions  are  numerous. 
The  Valediction 251 

Behn,  Aphra  (1640-1689),  dramatist  and  novelist,  was  the  daughter  of  a 
barber,  born  at  W'ye.  Her  marriage  with  a  gentleman  of  Dutch  ex- 
traction named  Behn,  gained  her  entrance  to  tiie  Court  of  Charles  II, 


825 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

and  when  the  Dutch  War  broke  out  in  1665,  the  king  sent  her  to  Ant- 
werp as  a  government  spj'.  After  her  return,  and  widowed,  she 
began  writing,  and  was  the  first  female  writer  to  live  professionally  by 
her  pen.  "She  was,"  says  one  of  her  biographers,  "the  George  Sand 
of  the  Restoration,  the  'Chere  Maitre'  to  such  men  as  Dryden,  Olway, 
and  Southerne,  who  all  honoured  her  with  their  friendship.  Her 
genius  and  vivacity  were  undoubted;  her  plays  were  very  coarse,  but 
very  lively  and  humorous,  and  she  possessed  an  indisputable  touch 
of  the  lyric  genius.  Her  prose  works  are  decidedly  less  meritorious 
than  her  dramas  and  the  best  of  her  poems." 

Song  (Love  in  fanta.stic  triumph  sate) 499 

O  Love !  that  stronger  art  than  wine 503 

The  Dream 547 

The  Libertine 559 

On  the  Death  of  Waller 595 

Benlowes,  Edward  (1603P-1676),  was  the  son  of  Andrew  Benlowes  of 
Brent  Hall,  Essex,  and  educated  at  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge. 
Leaving  the  University  he  made  the  grand  tour.  "Some  say,"  re- 
marks Prof.  Saintsbury,  "that  he  was  brought  up  a  Roman  Catholic; 
others  that  he  adopted  Roman  Catholicism  abroad;  but  it  is  agreed 
that  he  died  a  faithful  Anglican."  On  inheriting  his  father's  property, 
through  the  reckless  generosity  of  his  nature,  "he  contrived,"  says 
Anthony  a  Wood,  "  to  squander  it  most  away,  on  poets,  flatterers,  in 
buying  curiosities,  on  musicians,  butloons,"  etc.  His  chief  work  was 
"Theophila,  of  Love's  Sacrifice,  a  divine  poem,  wTitten  by  E.  B.  Esc|. 
Several  parts  of  these  are  set  to  fit  aires,  by  Mr.  J.  Jenkins,"  1652. 
(See  Prof.  Saintsbury's  reprint  in  "Minor  Caroline  Poets,"  vol.  I.) 
Though  the  poem  was  well  received  when  published,  later  writers 
have  judged  it  harshly.  Benlowes  died  poor  and  neglected,  but  was 
decently  buried  by  a  collection  made  by  those  who  remembered  his 
former  condition.  Butler  says  he  served  in  the  Civil  War. 
A  Poetic  Descant,  upon  a  Private  Music-Meeting 174 

BoswoRTH,  William  (1607-1650?),  belonged  to  a  family  of  Bosworth, 
near  Harrington,  Cambridgeshire.  Little  is  known  of  the  poet.  He 
published  nothing  during  his  life-time,  but  the  year  following  his 
death  a  friend,  R.  C. — whose  figure  is  as  shadowy  as  the  poet's — 
printed  his  verse  in  a  volume  entitled  "The  Chast  and  Lost  Lovers 
Lively  shadowed  in  the  persons  of  .Arcadius  and  Septa  ...  to  this 
is  added  the  Contestation  betwixt  Bacchus  and  Diana,  and  certain 
Sonnets  of  the  Author  to  .•Aurora.  Digested  into  three  Poems  by 
Will  Bosworth,  Gent."  London,  1651. 
See'st  not,  my  Love  with  what  a  Grace 42 

Boyle,  Roger,  Earl  or  Orrery  (1621-1697),  statesman  and  dramatist, 
was  born  at  Lismore,  and  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin. 
After  futile  preparations  to  assist  Charles  to  the  throne,  he  Vifas 
chosen  by  Cromwell  to  help  repress  the  Irish  Rebellion.  In  1654, 
he  sat  in  Cromwell's  parliament  as  member  for  Cork;  and  in  1656, 
he  was  sent  as  Lord  President  of  the  Council  in  Scotland.  After 
Cromwell's  death.  Orrery  did  all  in  his  power  to  "  con.solidate  the 
government"  for  his  son  Richard,  but  finding  the  cause  hopeless,  he 
secured  Ireland  with  the  assistance  of  Sir  Charles  Cootc,  for  Charles. 
On  the  retirement  of  Lord  Clarendon,  the  lord  high  chancellor,  he 
was  offered,  but  refused,  the  great  seals,  owing  to  the  condition  of 
his  health.     An  attempt  was  made  by  the  House  of  Commons  to  im- 

826 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


peach  Orrery  for  "raising  of  moneys  by  his  own  authority  upon  his 
majesty's  subjects;  defrauding  the  king's  subjects  of  their  estates," 
but  the  proceedings  were  stopped  by  the  king  proroguing  both  houses 
of  parliament.  Orrery  wrote  a  number  of  tragedies  among  which 
are  "Henry  V,"  "Mustaplia,  the  son  of  Solyman  the  Magnificent," 
and  "Tryphon."  The  "Complete  Dramatic  Works  of  the  Earl  of 
Orrery,"  with  the  exception  of  "Mr.  Anthony"  was  published  in 
1743. 
The  Excellency  of  Wine 1 53 

Bkathwaite,  Richard  (1S88P-1673),  was  the  son  of  a  barrister  and 
recorder  of  Kendal,  born  at  Burneside,  Kendal,  and  educated  at 
(Jriel  College,  Oxford.  He  prepared  to  study  law  at  Pembroke  Col- 
lege, Cambridge,  but  after  leaving  the  university  went  up  to  London 
where  he  devoted  himself  to  poetry  and  dramitic  writing.  In  1611, 
Brathwaite  published  his  first  volume,  a  collection  of  poems,  "The 
Golden  Fleece."  He  was  a  voluminous  writer,  but  the  best  known 
of  his  books  is  "Barnabae  Itinerarium,  or  Barnabee's  Journal," 
issued  under  the  pseudonym  "Corymbarus,"  a  "sprightly  record  of 
English  travel,  in  Latin  and  English  doggerel  verse,"  the  eleventh 
edition  of  which  appeared  in  1876.  Tt  is  deilared  that  Brathwaite 
served  on  the  royalists'  side  in  the  Civil  \\'ar. 

Skin  more  pure  than  Lla's  snow 45 

Theniista's  Reproof 141 

Brome,  Alexander  (1620-1666),  was  an  attorney  in  the  lord  mayor's 
court,  according  to  one  authority,  and  in  the  coiu-t  of  king's  bench, 
according  to  another.  He  served  the  royalists'  cause  in  the  Civil 
Wars.  In  1653,  he  edited  "Five  New  Playes"  by  Richard  Brome, 
and  another  volume  of  "Playes"  in  1659.  He  published  a  comedy, 
"The  Cunning  Lovers,"  in  1654,  and  a  collection  of  "Songs  and 
Poems"  in  1661.  In  1666,  appeared  a  variorum  translation  of  Hor- 
ace, which  Brome  contributed  to,  and  edited.  He  was  a  spirited 
song-writer,  and  because  of  his  bacchanalian  lyrics,  has  been  styled 
by  Phillips  in  his  "Theatrum  Poetarum,"  the  "English  Anacreon." 

A  Mock  Song 51 

The  Resolve 69 

Brome,  Richard  (d.  1652?),  dramatist  of  whose  birth  nothing  is  known. 
That  his  origin  was  lowly  is  attested  by  Jonson's  lines  "To  my  Faith- 
ful Servant"  where  "I  had  you  for  a  servant,  Dick  Brome"  appears. 
All  that  is  known  of  Brome  personally  is  through  his  association  with 
Jonson.  He  wrote  a  number  of  realistic  and  romantic  comedies, 
among  the  best  known  being,  the  "Court  Beggars,"  "Sparagus 
Garden,"  the  "Jovial  Crew,  or  the  Merry  Beggars,"  the  "Love-Sick 
Court,"  and  the  "Queen  and  Concubine." 

The  Merry  Beggars 13 

Humility 74 

Broome,  William  (1689-1745),  was  born  at  Haslingtonin  Cheshire,  the  son 
of  a  poor  farmer.  He  was  educated  at  Eton,  and  St.  John's  College, 
Cambridge.  He  became  a  member  of  the  .Anglican  Church,  and 
held  the  livings  of  Pulham  and  Struston  in  Suffolk.  His  chief  claim 
to  remembrance  was  due  to  his  association  with  Pope  in  his  trans- 
lation of  Homer,  and  in  their  correspondence  which  lasted  without 
intermission  for  fourteen  years.  He  published  "Poems  on  Several 
Occasions."  in  1727. 
The  Rosebud 626 


827 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas  (1605-1682),  physician  and  prose-writer,  was  born 
in  the  parish  of  St.  Michael,  Cheapside,  London.  He  was  educated  at 
Winchester  College,  and  Broadgate  Hall,  now  Pembroke  College, 
Oxford.  Studying  medicine,  he  practiced  for  a  time  at  O.xford,  but 
abandoning  his  practice  he  accompanied  his  stepfather  on  his  official 
journey  to  Ireland.  From  Ireland,  Brown  went  to  France  and  Italy, 
and  returning  through  Holland  he  was  made  Doctor  of  Medicine  at 
Leyden  in  163.?.  In  1637,  he  established  him.sclf  at  Norwich,  where  he 
diedin  his  seventy-seventh  year.  In  1671,CharlesII,as  a  memorial  of 
his  visit  to  Norwich,  conferred  the  honour  of  knighthood  upon  Browne. 
He  is  considered  one  of  the  masters  of  English  prose  style.  His  chief 
works  are  the  famous  treatise  "  Religio  Medici,"  1642;  "Hydriotaphia, 
Urne  Burial;  or  a  Discourse  of  the  Sepulchral  Urns,  lately  found  in 
Norfolk,"  1658;  "The  Garden  of  CyTus,"  1658;  and  a  postiiumous 
volume  "Christian  Moralls,"  1716. 
Evening  Hymn 219 

BuNYAN,  John  (1628-1688),  was  born  at  Elstow,  Bedfordshire,  the  son  of 
a  "brasier"  or  whitesmith,  maker  and  mender  of  pots  and  kettles, 
which  trade  Bunyan  followed  choosing  to  call  himself  a  "tinker." 
As  a  youth  Bunyan  was  a  "gay,  daring  young  fellow,  whose  chief 
delight  was  in  dancing,  bell-ringing,  and  in  all  kinds  of  rural  sports 
and  pastimes,"  and  who  "had  acquired  the  habit  of  profane  swear- 
ing, in  which  he  became  such  an  adept  as  to  shock  those  who  were  far 
from  scrupulous  in  their  language  as  "the  ungodliest  fellow  for  swear- 
ing they  ever  heard."  The  influence  of  his  wife  and  her  religious 
books  wrought  in  him  a  reformation,  and  in  1657,  he  was  formally 
recognised  as  a  preacher.  Upon  the  Restoration,  acts  against  non- 
conformity were  enforced,  Bunyan  fell  imder  the  ban,  and  in  1661,  was 
put  in  gaol  where,  with  the  exception  of  one  or  two  short  cnLirge- 
ments,  he  remained  for  twelve  years.  After  his  release  he  became 
pastor  of  the  congregation  at  Bedford  of  which  he  had  long  been  a 
member,  but  extending  his  ministration  tliroughout  the  country. 
Bunyan's  works  are  numerous  of  wliich  the  most  famous,  the  greatest 
masterpiece  of  allegorv,  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  was  published  in 
1678. 

The  Author's  Apology  for  his  Book 143 

The  PUgrim 185 

The  Shepherd  Boy  sings  in  the  \'aUey  of  Humiliation 186 

Butler,  Samuel  (1612-1680),  was  the  son  of  a  farmer  born  in  the  parish 
of  Strenham,  Worcestershire,  and  educated  at  the  Worcester  free 
school.  It  is  said  that  he  went  to  Christ  Church,  Oxford  from  West- 
minster, but  the  probability  has  been  refuted.  Butler's  jouth  was 
spent  in  various  occupations;  he  is  said  to  have  studied  painting  and 
have  executed  a  head  of  Cromwell;  to  have  been  a  clerk  to  a  justice, 
also  a  clerk  to  a  succession  of  country  gentlemen.  He  spent  some 
time  in  Holland  and  France.  In  1659,  Butler's  iu'st  publication  ap- 
peared anonymously,  entitled  "Mola  Asinaria."  Three  jears  later 
was  licensed,  and  early  in  1663,  issued  "Hudibras,"  which  made  him 
famous.  Though  greatly  admired  by  King  Charles  II.,  and^other 
great  men  in  power.  Butler  was  greatly  neglected,  and  lived  in  "pov- 
erty and  obscurity  for  seventeen  years  after  the  first  appearance"  of 
his  poem.  A  third  part  of  "Hudibras"  was  issued  in  1678_;  and  in 
1759,  two  interesting  volumes  of  "The  Genuine  Remains  in  Verse 
and  Prose  of  Mr.  Samuel  Butler." 
Upon  the  Weakness  and  Misery  of  Man 179 

828 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Byrom,  John  (1692-1763),  poet  and  stenographer,  was  born  at  Kersall 
Cell,  Broughton,  near  Manchester,  and  educated  at  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge.  He  contributed  in  his  youth  two  papers  on  dreams  to 
the  Spectator.  In  1716,  he  travelled  abroad,  studying  medicine  for 
a  while  at  Monpeleir,  but  did  not  take  a  degree.  After  his  father's 
death,  the  estates  going  to  his  elder  brother,  he  sought  to  increase  his 
income  by  teaching  shorthand,  which  he  adopted  as  a  profession.  He 
was  elected  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society  in  1724,  and  twice  ad- 
dressed it.  His  poems  were  first  collected  and  published  at  Man- 
chester in  1773. 

A  Pastoral 677 

An  Epigram  723 

Careless  Content 750 

On  the  Origin  of  Evil 773 

Carey,  Henry  (I693P-1743),  poet  and  musician,  is  claimed  to  have  been 
the  illegitimate  child  of  George  Savile,  Marquis  of  Halifax  and  a  school- 
mistress. He  taught  music  in  a  boarding-school,  and  was  a  member 
of  Addison's  circle.  He  wrote  successful  operas  and  burlesques,  and 
is  accredited  the  authorship  of  "God  Save  the  Queen,"  first  pub- 
lished in  the  "Harmonia  Anglicana,"  in  1742,  where  it  appeared 
anonymously.  He  died  suddenly,  and  according  to  Hawkins,  by 
his  own  hand. 
Sally  in  our  Alley 632 

Cary,  Patrick  (fl.  1651),  was  a  younger  son  of  Sir  Henry  Cary,  first  Vis- 
count Falkland.  He  was  sent  very  young  to  France,  that  he  might 
be  brought  up  a  Roman  Catholic,  the  religion  of  his  mother.  After 
three  years  in  France  he  spent  the  next  twelve  in  Italy.  Leaving 
Rome,  Cary  suffered  great  distress  and  from  Brussels  wrote  to  friends 
for  assistance.  Disappointed,  he  assumed  the  Benedictine  habit  for 
a  short  period,  but  abandoned  it  because  the  diet  was  too  coarse  for 
his  delicate  system.  Returning  to  England  he  sought  the  influence 
of  Sir  Edward  Hyde,  for  a  military  post  in  the  Spanish  service;  failing 
in  this  he  seems  to  have  dropped  out  of  sight.  Sir  Walter  Scott  edited 
from  manuscripts,  "Trivial  Poems  and  Triolets,  Written  in  obedience 
to  Mrs.  Tomkins'  Commands.  By  Patrick  Cary,  20  Aug.,  1651," 
London,  1820.  Nine  of  the  pieces  had  been  previously  issued  under 
the  title  "Poems"  in  London,  1771. 

The  Healths. ; 154 

Crucifixus  Pro  Nobis 202 

Whilst  I  heheld  the  Neck  o'  th'  Dove 205 

Cavendish,  Margaret,  Duchess  of  Newcastle  (1624?-1674),  was 
born  at  St.  John's,  near  Colchister  in  Essex.  In  1643-5,  she  was  maid 
of  honour  to  Queen  Henrietta-Maria  whom  she  accompanied  to 
Paris.  At  Paris,  she  met  and  was  married  to  William  Cavendish, 
Marquis,  and  subsequently  Duke  of  Newcastle.  She  returned  to 
England  at  the  Restoration,  and  induced  her  husband  to  retire  from 
court,  to  "devote  himself  in  the  country  to  the  task  of  gathering  to- 
gether and  repairing  what  he  calls  'the  chips'  of  his  former  estates." 
Her  works  in  prose  and  verse  are  numerous.  "To  the  student  of 
early  literature,"  says  a  biographer,  "the  i)onderous  folios  in  which 
her  writings  exist  will  have  a  measure  of  the  charm  they  had  for 
Lamb.  Her  fairy  j^oems  are  good  enough  to  rank  with  those  of  Her- 
rick  and  Mennis,  though  .scarcely  with  those  of  Shakespeare,  as 
some  enthusiasts  have  maintained." 


829 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

The  Pastime  of  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies 19 

Song  by  Lady  Happy,  as  a  Sea-Goddess 133 

Poets  and  their  Theft 141 

An  Epilogue 1 50 

Charles  L,  King  (1600-1649),  of  the  United  Kingdom,  was  the  second  son 
of  James  VI.  of  Scotland  (and  First  of  England)  and  Anne  of  Den- 
mark, born  at  Dunfermline.  Ascended  the  throne  1625;  married 
Henrietta  Maria  of  France,  1625;  and  was  beheaded  by  Parliament 
1649. 
A  Royal  Lamentation 162 

CiBBER,  CoLLEY  (1671-1757),  actor  and  dramatist,  was  born  in  London, 
and  went  to  the  free  school  of  Grantham  in  Lincolnshire,  after  which 
he  stood  at  the  election  in  \\  inchester  College,  but  being  rejet  ted  he 
went  to  London,  "visited  the  theatres  and  conceived  a  taste  for  the 
stage."  After  an  experience  in  the  army  he  returned  to  London  and 
joined  the  united  companies  at  the  Theatre  Royal  in  1690.  His  first 
success  on  the  stage  was  in  1692,  as  the  Chaplain  m  the  "Orphan"  of 
Otway.  I-'ollowing  this  Gibber's  career  as  actor,  manager,  and 
dramatist  was  long  and  successful.  In  1730,  he  succeeded  Eusden 
as  poet-laureate,  which  was  undoubtedly  the  reward  for  the  Whig 
principles  he  had  expressed  in  his  play  the  "Non-Juror,"  an  adapta- 
tion of  Molicre's  "Taruffe"  into  English  politics. 
The  Blind  Boy 617 

Cleveland,  John  (1613-1658)  was  born  at  Loughborough,  Leicestershire, 
and  educated  at  Christ  College,  Cambridge.  He  was  elected  Fellow 
of  St.  John's  College,  in  1634,  where  he  remained  nine  years,  'the 
delight  and  ornament  of  St.  John's  society.'  He  joined  the  Royalist 
army  at  Oxford,  and  under  Sir  Richard  Willis  at  Newark,  made 
judge-advocate  which  office  was  to  gather  all  college  rents  within  the 
power  of  the  king's  forces  in  those  parts.'  At  the  surrender  of  Newark 
he  was  thrown  out  of  employment,  and  lived  in  a  destitute  condition. 
In  1655,  Cleveland  was  seized  at  Norwich  and  sent  to  prison  for  three 
months  at  Yarmouth.  Securing  his  release  through  a  manly  letter 
to  Cromwell,  he  lived  in  retirement,  teaching  for  support.  About 
1656,  appeared  'Poems  by  J.  C,  which  circulated  very  widely. 

Fuscara,  or  the  Bee  Errant 58 

To  Julia,  to  Expedite  her  Promise 62 

To  the  State  of  Love,  or  the  Senses'  Festival 78 

Upon  Tom  of  Christ  Chmxh,  Oxford 124 

The  Rebel  Scot 127 

CoNGREV!,  WiLi.L\M  (1670-1729),  chamatist,  was  born  at  Bardsey,  near 
Leeds,  and  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  Leaving  the  Univer- 
sity, he  entered  the  Middle  Temple,  but  soon  deserted  it  for  literature. 
His  first  publication  was  a  novel,  'Incognita,  or  Love  and  Duty 
reconciled,'  by  'Cleiphil';  his  first  play,  the  'Old  Bachelor',  was  pro- 
duced January  1692-3.  The  success  of  this  inspired  him  to  write  the 
'Double  Dealer',  performed  in  November,  1693.  Follo\ying  this 
he  produced  a  number  of  comedies  notable  for  their  faithfulness 
to  the  fashions  of  the  time,  and  for  their  pointed  and  vigorous  dialogue. 
A  man  of  pleasure,  Congreve  was  more  desirous  of  being  known  as  a 
'gentleman'  than  as  an  author.  Voltaire,  who  visited  him  towards 
the  end  of  his  life  was  said  to  have  been  digusted  at  this  'affectation.' 


830 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


^  PAGE 

In  1710,  was  published  the  first  collected  edition  of  Congreve's  works 

in  three  volumes. 

Song  (See,  see,  she  wakes,  Sabina  wakes!) 627 

Song  (Pious  Selinda  goes  to  pra\ers) 636 

Amoret 637 

Semele  to  Jupiter 641 

False  though  She  be  to  me  and  Love 654 

Cotton,  Charles  (1630-1687),  was  born  at  Beresford  in  Staffordshire, 
and  became  the  pupil  of  Ralph  Rawson  of  Brasenose  College,  Ox- 
ford, who  was  ejected  in  1648,  by  the  Parliamentarv-  visitors.  There 
is  no  evidence  that  Cotton  received  an  academical  training,  but  early 
in  youth  he  travelled  in  France,  and  it  is  supposed,  in  Italy,  acquir- 
ing a  large  knowledge  of  classical,  French,  and  Italian  literature. 
Cotton  followed  no  profession,  but  devoted  himself  to  literary  pur- 
suits. No  edition  of  Cotton's  poems  was  published  during  his  life- 
time; they  were  widely  circulated  in  manuscript  among  his  friends. 
The  first  to  appear  was  an  unauthorised  edition  of  the  poems  pub- 
lished in  16S9.  Cotton  published  in  1685,  a  translation  of  Montaigne 
in  three  volumes.     He  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Isaac  \\'alton. 

Contentation 480 

Les  Amours 501 

Ode  (Fair  Isabel,  if  ought  but  thee) 514 

Song  (Join  once  again,  my  Celia,  join) 515 

Laura  Sleeping 520 

Song  (Why,  dearest,  shouldst  thou  weep,  when  I  relate) 531 

To  Coelia 531 

Rondeau 564 

Ode  (The  day  is  set  did  earth  adorn) ,  . . .       571 

Cowley,  Abraham  (1618-1667),  was  born  in  London,  the  posthumous 
child  of  a  stationer,  and  educated  at  Westminster  and  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge.  He  began  early  to  write  verses,  and  in  1633,  published 
a  collection  entitled  "Poetical  Blossoms."  He  was  ejected  from 
Cambridge  shortly  after  Crashaw,  and  like  him  proceeded  to  Oxford. 
He  was  emploj'ed  on  missions  to  Holland  and  elsewhere  by  the  exiled 
court.  In  1647,  appeared 'The  .Mistress' which  became  the  favourite 
love  poems  of  the  day.  His  most  important  volume  'Poems'  came  out 
in  1656,  and  was  in  a  sense  a  collected  edition.  Cowley  popularised 
the  Pindaric  ode  which  set  the  example  for  innumerable  poets  who 
came  after  him  in  the  seventeen  century. 

Hymn  to  Light 3 

The  Swallow 9 

The  Spring 33 

David's  Song  (Awake,  awake  my  Lyre) 46 

The  Chronicle:  a  Ballad 55 

For  Hope 93 

A  Wish 95 

The  Wish .- 96 

To  the  Royal  Society 99 

Ode  of  Wit 105 

Brutus 113 

To  Mr.  Hobbes 120 

Drinking 151 

The  Epicure 152 

Another 152 


831 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

On  the  Death  of  Mr.  Crashaw 233 

On  the  Death  of  Mr.  William  Hervey 236 

CuTTS,  John,  Lord  Cutts  (1661-1707),  soldier  and  statesman,  was  born 
at  Arkesden  in  Essex,  and  educated  at  Catherine  Hall.  Cambridge. 
In  1687,  he  published  "  Poetical  Exercises,  \vritten  on  several  Occa- 
sions," and  dedicated  to  Mary,  Princess  of  Orange.  Cutts  was  one 
of  the  Lord  Justices  of  Ireland,  lieutenant-general  in  the  British  army, 
and  Governor  of  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
Song  (Only  tell  her  that  I  love) 631 

Denham,  Sir  John  (1615-1669),  was  born  in  Dublin,  and  educated  at 
London  and  Trinity  College,  Oxford.  He  studied  law  at  Lincoln's 
Inn.  His  lirst  publication  was  a  historical  tragedy  "The  Sophy", 
which  was  acted  at  the  private  theatre  at  Blackfriars,  and  published  in 
1642.  When  the  Civil  '\\'ars  broke  out  Denham  was  Sheriff  of  Surrey, 
and  he  entered  the  service  of  the  king.  He  was  made  Governor  of 
Farnham  castle,  where  he  was  captured  by  Sir  William  Waller  and 
sent  by  him  prisoner  to  London,  but  was  allowed  to  retire  to  Oxford 
where  he  lived  in  retirement  for  five  years.  He  was  frequently  in  the 
ser\-ice  of  Henrietta  Maria  and  the  young  king  Charles  during  their 
exile.  At  the  Restoration  he  was  presented  several  grants  of  land 
and  valuable  leases  for  his  loyalty,  and  made  surveyor- eeneral  of 
works.  Denham's  most  important  work  is  "Cooper's  Hill",  1642, 
which  was  the  "earliest  example  of  strictly  descriptive  poetry  in  the 
language." 

Friendship  and  Single  Life,  against  Love  and  Marriage 81 

Song  (Morpheus,  the  humble  god,  that  dwells) 223 

On  Mr.  Abraham  Cowley's  Death  and  Burial  amongst  the  Ancient 

Poets 244 

DiGBY,  George,  Earl  of  Bristol  (1612-1677),  was  born  at  Madrid,  during 
his  father's  first  embassy  to  Spain,  and  educated  at  Magdalen  College, 
Oxford.  After  travelling  in  France,  he  lived  on  his  father's  estate, 
Sherborne  Castle,  devoting  himself  to  the  study  of  philosophy  and 
literature.  In  March  1640,  he  was  elected  to  Parliament  as  member 
for  Dorset;  in  1642.  impeached  for  high  treason  he  escaped  to  Holland. 
Later  he  returned  to  England  and  joined  the  Court  at  Oxford.  He 
fought  with  the  royalist  army,  holding  high  commissions.  When 
the  king  surrendered  to  the  Parliamentary  Commissioners,  Digby 
escaped  to  France  and  served  in  the  French  army.  Upon  the  Restora- 
tion he  returned  to  England  and  took  part  in  public  affairs. 
Song  (See,  O  see  1) 89 

DoDiNGTON,  George  Bubb,  Lord  Melcombe  (1691-1762).  was  the  son 
of  Jeremias  Bubb  "  variously  described  as  an  Irish  fortune-hunter  and 
an  apothecary  at  Weymouth  or  Carlisle"  and  a  daughter  of  one  John 
Dodington.  It  is  supposed  he  attended  Oxford.  In  1715,  he  was 
elected  member  of  Parliament  for  Winchelsea.  The  same  year  he 
was  sent  as  envoy  extraordinary  to  Spain,  remaining  there  for  two 
years.  He  succeeded  to  the  estates  of  his  uncle  George  Dodington 
in  1720,  and  took  the  family  name.  In  1761,  he  was  created  Baron 
Melcombe  of  Melcombe  Regis,  in  Dorsetshire.  His  activities  were 
mainly  political,  but  he  was  an  occasional  writer  of  verse. 
Verses,  sent  by  Lord  Melcombe  to  Dr.  Young,  etc 783 


832 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE. 

Dryden,  John  (1631-1700),  was  born  at  Aldwinklc  All  Saints,  Northamp- 
tonshire, and  educated  at  Westminster,  and  Trinity  Collc.tc,  Cam- 
bridge. Leaving  the  University  Dryden  went  to  London  finding 
employment  according  to  ShadwcU,  as  clerk  to  his  cousin  Sir  Gilbert 
Pickering,  and  later  as  a  hack-writer  for  Hcrringman,  a  bookseller 
with  whom  he  lodged,  and  who  published  hi.,  books  until  1679.  In 
1663,  he  married  Lady  Elizabeth  Howard,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of 
Berkshire  who  gave  the  coujjle  a  small  estate  in  Wiltshire.  In  1662, 
Dryden  was  elected  to  the  Royal  Society;  his  first  play  the  "Wild 
Gallant",  a  failure,  was  performed  at  the  King's  Theatre  in  1663. 
The  closing  of  the  theatres  on  account  of  the  plagwe  and  the  tire  of 
London  from  May  1665  to  the  end  of  1666,  caused  Dryden's  retire- 
ment to  Charlton  in  Wiltshire,  a  seat  of  his  falhcr-in-law,  where  he 
completed  two  remarkable  works,  the  "'Annus  Mirabilis",  and  the 
"Essay  on  Dramatic  Poesy."  When  the  theatres  reopened  Dryden 
began  the  production  of  a  long  list  of  plays  which  made  him  famous. 
In  1670,  he  was  appointed  Poet-Laureate  and  historiographer.  Between 
November  1681.  and  November  1682,  Dryden  produced  "Absalom 
and  .-Vchitophel,"  "The  Medal,"  "Mac  Flecknoe,"  and  a  second  part 
of  "Absalom  and  Achitophel" — mainly  ■wTitten  however,  by  Tate — his 
greatest  satires  which  contained  some  of  his  best  work,  and  raised  him 
to  the  height  of  his  reputation.  The  Revolution  of  1638,  deprived 
Dryden  of  his  offices,  and  the  patronage  which  he  had  expectations  of 
from  James  II.  He  turned  to  the  production  of  plays  once  more,  but 
as  his  dramatic  energy  declined,  he  turned  to  other  directions.  He 
translated  Virgil,  and  WTOte  the  Fables.  In  his  last  years  he  "held  the 
post  of  literary  dictator,  previously  assigned  to  Ben  Jonson,  and  after- 
wards to  Addison,  Pope  and  Samuel  Johnson  " 

A  Song  to  a  Fair  young  Lady,  going  out  of  Town  in  the  Spring 448 

Hunting  Song 460 

Harvest  Home 461 

Incantation 462 

Incantation 463 

Song  (Hear,  ye  sullen  powers  below) 464 

Thamesis'  Song 465 

A  Song  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  1687 466 

Ale.xander's  Feast,  or  the  Power  of  Music 468 

You  PIea.sing  Dreams  of  Love  and  sweet  Delight 49S 

Roundelav 512 

The  Fair  Stranger 530 

The  Song  of  Venus 533 

Damilcar's  Song 534 

Song,  sung  to  a  Minuet S3  5 

Song  (I  feed  a  flame  within,  which  so  torments  me) 542. 

A  Song  (Fair,  sweet  and  young,  receive  a  ijrize) 543 

Song  (You  charmed  me  not  with  that  fair  face) 544 

Song  betwi.\t  a  Shepherd  and  a  Shepherdess 545 

Song  (Farewell,  ungrateful  traitor) 555 

Song  (Can  life  be  a  blessing) 559 

SongXNo,  no,  ijoor  suffering  heart,  no  change  endeavour) 562 

Lines  printed  under  the  Engraved  Portrait  of  Milton 574 

Prologues  to  the  University  of  (J.vford: 

i.  Spoken  by  Mr.  Hart  at  the  acting  of  the  'Silent  Woman',  1673 575 

ii.  Spoken  by  Mr.  Hart,  1674 576 

iti.  1681 578 

Song  (Oh,  fading  joy!  how  quickly  art  thou  past) 588 

To  the  Memory  of  Mr.  Oldham 594 


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INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


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To  the  Pious  Memory  of  the  Accomplished  young  Lady,  Mrs.  Anne  Kil- 
ligrew,  excellent  in  the  two  sister  Arts  of  Poesy  and  Painting 596 

D'Urfey,  Thomas,  (1653-1723),  poet  and  dramatist,  was  born  of  Hugue- 
not descent,  at  Exeter.  His  first  play  was  a  tragedy,  'The  Seige  of 
Memphis;  or  the  .Ambitious  Queen',  produced  at  the  King's  Theatre, 
in  1676.  After  this  followed  a  number  of  comedies  and  songs  which 
won  him  great  popularity  and  many  friendships.  '  Four  successive 
monarchs,'  declares  a  biographer,  'had  been  amused  by  him  and  had 
shown  him  personal  favour.' 

Come,  sweet  Lass 449 

Song  (Some  thirty  or  forty  or  fifty  at  least) 527 

A  Scotch  Song 528 

Chloe  Divine 529 

The  Winchester  Wedding 564 

Etherege,  Sir  George  (1635P-1691),  dramatist,  is  said  to  have  come  of 
an  Oxfordshire  family.  It  is  supposed  that  he  was  at  Cambridge 
for  a  short  time;  to  have  travelled  abroad;  and  afterwards  to  have 
been  at  one  of  the  Inns  of  Court.  He  was  the  author  of  three  comedies: 
'The  Seige  of  Rhodes',  acted  in  1661;  the'Rival  Ladies',  acted  in 
1663;  and  'The  Comical  Revenge,  or  Love  in  a  Tub',  acted  in  1664. 
These  comedies  declared  Mr.  Gosse  (Seventeen  Century  Studies) 
inaugurated  the  Restoration  drama.  Etherege  held  diplomatic  posts 
under  Charles  II.  and  James  II.,  at  the  Hague  and  Ratisbon.  Like 
Rochester,  his  habits  were  loose  and  irregular,  and  he  greatly  offended 
the  Germans.  Leaving  Ratisbon  Etherege  went  to  Paris  where  it 
is  said  he  died. 

To  a  very  Young  Lady 487 

To  a  Lady,  asking  how  long  he  would  Love  her 517 

Song  (Ladies,  though  to  your  conquering  eyes) 519 

Song  (If  she  be  not  as  kind  as  fair) 5  52 

Song  (Ye  happy  swains  whose  hearts  are  free) 554 

Farqdhar,  George  (1678-1707),  dramatist,  was  born  at  Londonderry, 
and  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  Leaving  the  University — 
he  was  expelled  some  say,  while  Wilkes  his  biographer  declares  that 
the  reason  was  the  death  of  Bishop  Wiseman  of  Dromore,  his  patron — - 
he  appeared  on  the  stage  as  an  actor.  In  1697  or  8,  he  went  to  London, 
and  in  1699,  produced  his  first  play  'Love  in  a  Bottle',  at  the  Drvu-y 
Lane  Theatre.  This  was  followed  by  a  number  of  comedies  attended 
generally  with  success.  In  1700,  Farquhar  was  in  Holland,  sujjjjosedly 
on  military  duty.  He  was  the  last  of  the  school  of  Congreve. 
Trifles 747 

Finch,  Anne,  Countess  of  Winchilsea  (1661-1720),  was  the  daughter 
of  Sir  William  Kingsmill,  of  Sidmonton,  near  Southampton.  She 
married  Heneage  Finch,  the  fourth  earl  of  Winchilsea.  Before  her 
marriage  she  was  maid  of  honour  to  Mary  of  Modena.  She  was  a 
friend  of  Pope's  and  other  men  of  letters.  She  published  during  her 
life-time  'The  Spleen'  a  Pindaric  ode,  in  'A  Miscellany  of  Original 
Poems',  printed  by  Charles  Gildon,  1701;  and  'Miscellany  Poems, 
Written  by  a  Lady',  1713.  She  was  entirely  neglected  during  the  eight- 
teenth  century  until  Wordsworth  brought  her  to  notice.  He  praised 
her  'Nocturnal  Reverie'  in  the  prefatory  essay  to  a  volume  of  poems 
in  1815,  and  in  presenting  to  Lady  Mary  Lowther  '  Poems  and  Ex- 
tracts, chosen  for  an  Album'  he  included  many  of  the  Countess  of 


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INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 
Winchilsea's  poems.     At  her  death  she  left  a  number  of  manuscripts, 
which  were  printed  in  Miss  Myra  Reynolds'  edition  of  'The  Poems 
of  Anne  Countess  of  Winchilsca'  Chicago,  19U3. 

To  the  Nightingale 618 

The  Tree 619 

The  Answer  to  i\Ir.  Pope's  Impromptu 642 

A  Song  (Persuade  me  not,  there  is  a  grace) 645 

A  Nocturnal  Reverie 767 

The  Change 765 

Life's  Progress 794 

Flatman,  Thomas  (1637-1688),  poet  and  miniature-painter,  was  born  in 
London,  and  educated  at  Winchester  and  at  Xew  College,  Oxford. 
Settling  in  London,  he  occupied  himself  with  painting  and  poetry, 
and  in  both  arts  winning  the  applause  of  his  contemporaries.  The 
first  collection  of  his  verse  was  'Poems  and  Songs',  published  in  1674. 

The  Defiance 552 

A  Wish 579 

For  Thoughts 580 

The  Sad  Day 591 

Gay,  John  (1685-1732),  poet  and  dramatist,  was  born  at  Barnstaple,  and 
educated  at  the  free  grammar  school  of  his  native  town.  He  was  ap- 
prenticed to  a  mercer  in  London,  but  finding  this  uncongenial  to  his 
health  returned  to  his  native  place  to  repair  it.  He  was  soon  back 
in  town  again  and  was  made  'secretary  or  domestic  steward'  to  the 
Duchess  of  Monmouth,  and  enjoying  the  friendship  of  Pope.  In 
1712,  Gay  issued  a  poem  in  blank  verse  entitled  'wine',  and  in  1713, 
'Rural  Sports.'  In  1714,  appeared  the  'Shepherd's  Week'  and  the 
same  year  he  obtained  the  appointment  of  secretary  to  Lord  Claren- 
don, accompanying  him  to  the  court  of  Hanover.  He  returned  to 
England  on  the  death  of  Queen  Anne.  In  1716,  was  published, 
'Trivia;  or  the  Art  of  Walking  the  Streets  of  London',  valuable  for 
its  description  of  urban  life  under  Queen  Anne.  In  1720,  Tonson 
and  Lintot,  published  his  poems  in  two  volumes  which  gained  him  a 
large  profit.  This  he  lost  with  other  money  in  the  famous  'South  Sea 
Bubble'.  In  1727,  appeared  the  well-known  'Fables'  upon  which  his 
reputation  mainly  rests.  The  long-awaited  patronage  from  court 
came  with  the  accession  of  George  II.,  a  nomination  as  gentleman- 
usher  to  the  little  Princess  Louisa,  but  this  Gay  declined.  In  1728,  the 
famous  '  Beggars'  Opera'  was  produced  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  and 
madehis  name  a  household  word  in  the  three  kingdoms.  Though  Gay 
experienced  the  ups  and  downs  of  fortune  he  was  fortunate  in  his 
friendships.  From  1728,  to  the  end  of  his  life,  he  lived  with  the  Duke 
and  Duchess  of  Queensberry,  'either  at  their  town  house  or  in  the 
country  seat  of  Amesbury  in  Wiltshire.  They  assumed,  indeed,  for- 
mal charge  of  him,  the  diike  taking  care  of  hin  money,  and  the  duchess 
watching  over  the  poet  himself.' 

An  Epistle  to  the  Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Burlington 607 

The  Poet  and  the  Rose 626 

Song  (O  ruddier  than  the  cherry !) .  .    629 

Sweet  William's  Farewell  to  Black-Eyed  Susan . 634 

A  Ballad 660 

The  Jugglers 687 

The  Goat  without  a  Beard 689 

The  Hare  with  many  Friends 691 


835 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Mr.  Pope's  Welcome  from  Greece 701 

My  Own  Epitaph 792 

GoDOLPHiN,  Sidney  (1610-1643),  was  born  in  Cornwall,  and  educated  at 
Exeter  College,  Oxford,  and  after  leaving  the  University  he  entered 
the  Inns  of  Court.  Returned  from  his  travels  abroad  he  was  elected 
member  of  Parliament  for  Helston  in  1628.  When  the  Civil  War 
broke  out  he  joined  the  army  on  the  royalist  side,  and  was  shot  in  a 
skirmish  at  Chagford. 

No  more  unto  my  Thoughts  appear 4S 

Hymn  (Lord  when  the  wise  men  came  from  far) 200 

Granville,  George,  Lord  L.^nsdowne  (1667-1735),  poet  and  dramatist, 
was  educated  in  France  and  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  During 
the  reign  of  James  II.  he  lived  in  retirement  'addressing  amorous 
verses  to  'Myra'  or  'Mira'  (Frances  Brudnell,  Countess  of  New- 
burgh),  and  WTiting  plays.'  With  the  accession  of  Queen  Anne, 
Granville  entered  public  life  as  member  of  Parliament  for  Fowey. 
In  1710,  he  succeeded  Walpole  as  secretary  of  state,  and  the  following 
year  was  created  a  peer  with  the  title  of  Lord  Lansdowne,  Baron  of 
Bideford,  Devon.  He  held  several  high  offices  until  the  accession  of 
George  I.  In  1722,  he  went  abroad  and  lived  at  Paris  for  ten  years. 
Returning  he  published  a  revised  and  complete  edition  of  his  works. 
Some  of  his  plays  are:  'She  Gallants'  acted  16?6;  'Heroick  Love', 
a  tragedy,  acted  1698;  'The  Jew  of  Veni*.e',  an  adaptation  of  Shake- 
speare's 'Merchant  of  Venice',  1701;  and  'The  British  Enchanters', 
an  opera,  1706. 

To  Mira 

Song  (The  happiest  mortals  once  were  we) 548 

550 
Hall,  John  (1627-1656),  poet  and  pampUeteer,  was  born  at  Durham,  and 
educated  at  Durham  School,  and  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge.  At 
nineteen  Hall  published  'Hora;  Vacorre,  or  Essays,  Some  Occasional 
Considerations',  in  1640,  which  won  considerable  notice.  In  1646-7,  he 
issued  a  volutne  of  '  Poems'  at  Cambridge.  In  1650,  Hall  accompanied 
Cromwell  to  Scotland,  where  he  drew  up  the  '  Grounds  and  Reasons 
of  Monarchy'  printed  at  Edinburgh.  This  was  followed  by  other 
pamphlets  of  a  political  nature.  He  issued  also  other  books  of  verse, 
and  at  his  death  left  a  nimiber  of  manuscripts. 

On  an  Hour-Glass 455 

The  Lure 494 

The  Call 497 

Hammond,  Willl\m  (11.  1655),  was  the  third  son  of  Sir  William  Ham.mond, 
born  at  St.  Albans.  He  publL-^licd  in  1655,  'Poems  by  W.  H.',  which 
were  reprinted  by  Sir  Samuel  Egerton  Brydges  in  1816.  He  addressed 
many  of  his  poems  to  Thomas  Stanley  who  was  his  nephew.  Prof. 
Saintsbury  has  reprinted  Hammond  in  his  'Minor  Caroline  Poets', 
vol.  ii. 

Husbandry 38 

The  Forsaken  Maid 72 

Heath',  Robert  (fl.  1650),  was  born  in  London,  and  educated  at  Corpus 
Christi  College,  Cambridge.     His  chief  known  work  is  'Ckirastclla; 
together   with   Poems   occasionall,   Elegies,   Epigrams,    Satyrs,'   and 
issued  in  1650. 
What  is  Love? 28 


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INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 
Howard,  James  (fl.  1674),  dramatist,  was  the  ninth  son  of  the  first  Earl 
of  Berkshire,  and  brother  to  Lady  Elizabeth  Howard  who  became 
Dryden's  wife.  He  was  the  autlior  of  two  comedies,  "All  Mistaken, 
or  the  Mad  Couple'  acted  at  the  Theatre  Royal  166S,  and  published 
in  1672;  and  'The  En^ilish  Mounsieur',  acted  at  the  same  theatre, 
1666,  and  published  10/4.  Nell  Gwyn  was  in  the  cast  of  the  latter 
play. 
Ladies,  Farewell,  I  must  Retiix 529 

Howell,  James  (1594-1666),  author  and  letter-WTiter,  was  the  son  of  a 
curate,  born  at  Abernant,  and  educated  at  Hereford  Free  School 
and  Jesus  College,  Oxford.  After  taking  his  degree  Howell  was  ap- 
pointed steward  of  a  glass-ware  manufactory  in  London.  In  1666, 
he  left  England  for  the  continent  in  the  interest  of  the  glass-house  and 
remained  away  three  years  travelling  through  Holland,  France,  Spain, 
and  Italy.  On  returning  he  severed  his  connection  with  the  glass- 
house and  sought  public  office.  He  held  various  offices  and  was  sent 
on  missions  to  Europe,  and  sat  in  Parliament.  In  1640,  he  began 
his  literary  career  and  was  the  author  of  innumerable  political  pam- 
phlets, translations,  and  works  in  prose  and  verse.  In  1643,  Howell 
was  arrested  in  London,  and  committed  to  the  Fleet  where  he  re- 
mained eiglit  years;  it  was  during  this  time  that  he  wrote  and  pub- 
lished the  first  three  volumes  of  his  famous  'Epistohe  Ho-elianse'; 
a  fourth  volume  appeared  in  1655. 
Upon  Black  Eyes,  and  Becoming  Frowns 64 

Hughes,     Dr.     Henry     (Of    this  author    there   could    be  obtained  no 
facts  of  his  life). 
A  Lady  to  a  young  Courtier 523 

Killigrew,  Sir  William  (1606-1695),  dramatist,  was  born  at  Hanworth, 
Middlesex,  and  educated  at  St.  John's  College,  Oxford.  He  was 
kinghted  in  1626.  After  travelling  in  Europe,  he  entered  Parliament 
as  member  'by  double  returns'  for  Newport  and  Peryn,  in  Cornwall. 
Killigrew  was  appointed  governor  of  Pendennis  Castle  and  Falmouth 
Haven,  and  was  made  gentleman-usher  to  Charles  I.  He  also  held, 
after  the  Restoration,  the  post  of  vice-chamberlain  to  Queen  Catherine, 
which  he  filled  for  twenty-two  years.  In  1665,  appeared  'Three 
Playes,  written  by  Sir  William  Killigrew',  and  in  1666,  another  volume 
of  'Foure  New  Playes',  was  issued.  Some  of  these  it  is  said,  were 
performed. 
Song  (Come  come,  thou  glorious  object  of  my  sight) 44 

Kynaston,  Sir  Francis,  (1587-1642),  was  born  at  Oteley,  Shropshire, 
and  educated  at  Oriel  College,  Oxford,  taking  his  M.  A.  from  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  at  Lincoln's  Inn, 
in  1611;  kniglited  in  1618;  and  in  1621,  elected  to  Parliament  as 
member  from  Shropshire.  He  was  made  esquire  to  the  body  of 
Charles  I.  on  his  accession,  and  was  the  centre  of  a  brilliant  literary 
coterie  at  court.  In  1635,  Kynaston  founded  an  academy  of  learning 
called  the  'Mus'.cum  Minerva;',  which  did  not  survive    his    death. 

To  Cynthia  on  Concealment  of  her  Beauty 66 

To  Cynthia  on  her  Mother's  Decease 226 

L'Estrange,  Sir  Roger  (1616-1704),  Tory  journalist  and  pamphleteer, 
was  born  at  Hunstanton,  Norfolk,  and  eduiated  at  home,  where  in 


837 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

early  youth  he  showed  an  aptitude  for  music.  L'Estrange  was  an 
ardent  royalist,  served  in  Prince  Rupert's  troop,  and  exijcrienced  a 
hazardous  and  varied  career  during  the  Civil  War  and  Protectorate. 
He  wrote  all  manner  of  pamphlets  upon  church  and  state  controversies, 
which  were  often  very  bitter,  scurrilous,  and  personal.  In  1684-5, 
L'Estrange  was  elected  to  Parliament  as  mem.ber  for  Winchester, 
and  was  often  in  the  service  of  James  11. 
Loyalty  Confined 156 

Marvell,  Andrew  (1621-1678),  was  born  at  Winstead  in  Holdemess, 
Yorkshire,  son  of  the  Master  of  Kingston-upon-HuU  Grammar 
School  where  he  was  early  trained,  and  later  at  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge. The  ten  years  after  Marvell  left  the  Universit\',  are  obscure. 
It  is  supposed  that  from  1642  to  1646,  he  travelled  in  Holland,  France, 
Italy  and  Spain;  forming  while  in  Rome  the  friendship  which  lasted 
throughout  his  life.  In  1650  or  51,  Marvell  became  tutor  to  Mary, 
daughter  of  Lord  Fairfax,  the  influence  of  whose  household  brought 
him  into  sympathy  with  the  Commonwealth.  In  1652,  JMUton  recom- 
mended ^iarvell  for  the  post  of  Assistant  Latin  Secretary,  and  failing 
to  obtain  it  he  became  member  of  Parliament  for  Hull.  He  was  in 
Parliament  under  Charles  II.  and  satirised  his  dissolute  life  and 
court.  When  Charles  Howard,  first  Earl  of  Carlisle,  went  on  his 
first  embassy  to  Russia,  Sweden,  and  Denmark,  Marvell  accompanied 
him  as  secretary.  Marvell  was  the  poet  of  the  Protectorate;  his 
poems  to  Cromwell  are  numerous.  He  was  known  chiefly  in  his  own 
day  as  a  pamphleteer  and  satirist,  as  he  engaged  in  many  political 
controversies.     Few  of  his  poems  were  published  during  Iris  life-time. 

On  a  Drop  of  Dew 8 

The  Garden 14 

The  Mower  .against  Gardens 16 

The  Pictuie  of  little  T.  C.  in  a  Prospect  of  Flowers 18 

The  Nymph  complaining  for  the  Death  of  her  Fawn 24 

The  Definition  of  Love '. 29 

Young  Love 32 

The  I'"air  Singer 39 

To  his  Coy  Mistress 40 

The  Mower  to  the  Glow  Worms 50 

The  Mower's  Song 53 

Eyes  and  Tears 90 

An  Horalian  Ode  upon  Cromwell's  lieturn  from  Ireland 108 

On  Paradise  Lost 117 

The  Coronet 207 

Bermudas 217 

An  Epitaph  upon — 249 

Milton,  John  (1608-1674),  was  the  son  of  a  scrivener,  born  in  Bread 
Street,  Cheapside,  London,  and  educated  at  Christ  College.  Cam- 
bridge. Abandoning  his  intention  lo  enter  the  ministry,  he  settled 
with  his  father  at  Horton  in  Buckinghamshire,  where  he  remained 
for  six  years.  It  was  during  this  period  he  wrote  the  great  pieces 
known  as  his  minor  poems,  and  done  for  occasional  jjurposes.  They 
were  the ' -Arcades',  'Comus',  'L'AUegi-o',  Tl  Penseroso',  and  'Lycidas', 
and  published  in  the  volumes  'Poems'  of  1645.  In  1638,  Milton  went 
abroad  visiting  France  and  Italy.  While  in  Italy,  he  met  and  was 
entertained  by  some  of  the  most  renowned  and  cultivated  men  of  the 


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INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


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time.  Returning  to  London,  he  stopped  a  while  in  lodgings,  after- 
which  he  'took  a  pretty  garden  house'  in  Aldcrsgate  Street,  where  he 
took  pupils.  In  1640,  Milton  threw  himself  into  ecclesiastical  disputes; 
followed  during  the  next  twenty  years  by  his  absorption  in  the  civil 
strug^e,  serving  as  Latin  Secretary  to  the  Council  of  the  Common- 
wealth. At  the  Restoration  he  devoted  himself  to  a  long-cherished 
scheme,  begun  in  1653,  of  writing  an  epic  poem  which  'should  be 
national  in  character,  and  set  forth  his  conception  of  the  providential 
orcier  of  the  world.'  The  result  was  'Paradise  Lost',  completed  in 
1665,  and  published  in  1667.  In  1671,  'Paradise  Regained'  and 
'Samson  .'Vgonistes'  were  issued  together. 

Song  on  May  morning 3 

From  'Arcades' 

i.  Look  Nymphs,  and  Shepherds  look 10 

ii.  O're  the  smooth  enameld  green 11 

iii.  Nymphs  and  Shepherds  dance  no  more 12 

To  the  Nightingale 23 

To  a  \  irtuous  young  Lady 97 

On  His  being  Arrived  to  the  Age  of  Twenty-Three 98 

To  the  Lord  Generall  Cromwell  May  1652 108 

On  Shakcspear  1630 116 

To  the  Lady  Margaret  Ley 119 

To  Mr.  Lawrence 119 

To  Cyriack  Skinner 120 

When  the  Assault  was  Intended  to  the  City 125 

On  the  Late  Massacher  in  Piemont 126 

Fro.n  'Comus' 

1.  The  Star  thit  bids  the  Shepherd  fold 134 

ii.   Sweet  Echo,  sweetest  Nymph  that  liv'st  Unseen 136 

iii.  Sabrina  fair 137 

IV.  To  the  Ocean  now  I  fly 139 

L'AUegro 163 

II  Penseroso 168 

At  a  Solemn  Musick 177 

On  Time 180 

On  His  Blindness 185 

On  the  Morning  of  Christ's  Nativity 191 

On  His  Deceased  Wife 225 

Lycidas 227 

Montagu,  Charles,  Earl  of  Halifax  (1661-1715),  was  born  it  is  sup- 
poseci,  at  Horton,  Northamptonshire,  and  educated  at  Westminster 
school  and  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  His  intention  was  to  take 
orders,  but  entered  public  life  instead,  was  elected  to  Parliament, 
and  became  a  minister  of  the  crown  under  William  and  Mary.  '  Halifax 
possessed  great  administrative  ability,  and  keen  bu.sincss  faculties. 
As  a  finance  minister  he  achieved  a  scries  of  brilliant  successes.  As  a 
parliamentary  orator  his  only  rival  was  Somcrs.  His  ambition  was 
great,  his  vanity  excessive,  and  his  arrogance  unbounded.  He  was 
president  of  the  Royal  Society  .  .  and  a  munificent  patron  of  litera- 
ture.' 
Verses,  written  for  the  Toasting-Glasses  of  the  Kit-Cat  Club,  1703 646 

Montagu,  Lady  Mary  Wortley  (1689-1762),  writer  of  Letters,  was 
born  in  London,  the  daughter  of  Evelyn  Pierrepont,  the  fifth  Earl  of 
Kingston  (and  created  Duke  of  Kingston  in  1715).  She  read  eagerjy 
in  her  youth  old  romances  and  dramatists,  and  became  proficient  in 


839 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Latin  and  Greek.  In  1712,  she  married  Edward  Wortlcy  Montagu 
by  special  licence  against  her  father's  wishes  who  had  ordered  her  to 
marry  another  man.  She  was  at  court,  and  a  leader  in  London 
society.  Her  relations  and  quarrels  with  Pope,  who  loved  her,  are 
well  known.     Her  'Letters'  first  appeared  in  1763,  in  three  volumes. 

To  a  Lady  making  Love 638 

The  Advice 639 

The  Answer 640 

MoRDAUNT,  Charles,  Earl  of  Peterborough  (165S-1735),  admiral, 
general,  and  diplomatist,  was  educated  at  Eton  and  Christ  Church, 
Oxford.  He  held  office  under  William  HL  and  Queen  Anne,  and 
participated  in  many  campaigns  and  naval  battles  as  general  and 
admiral  of  the  British  forces. 
Chloe's  Triumph . 511 

More,  Henry  (1614-1687),  theologian,  born  at  Grantham,  and  educated 
at  Eton  and  Christ's  College,  Cambridge.  Entering  holy  orders 
about  1639,  he  was  elected  a  Fellow  of  his  college,  and  lived  there 
the  rest  of  his  life.  More  was  a  member  of  the  little  band  of  Christian 
Platonists  which  was  formed  at  Cambridge  about  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  He  was  the  author  of  some  volumes  of  prose, 
but  he  began  his  literary  career  as  a  poet,  publishing  in  164?,  '  Psy- 
thozoia  Plantonica;  or,  a  Platonicall  Song  of  the  Soul  consisting  of 
Foure  Several  Poems'.  ' Philosophicall  Poems'  appeared  in  1647,  in 
which  the  'Song  of  the  Soul'  was  reprinted. 
The  Philosopher's  Devotion 189 

MoTTEUX,  Pierre  Antonie  (1660-1718),  translator  and  dramatist,  was 
born  at  Rouen,  Normandy,  and  emigrated  to  England  when  the 
Edict  of  Nantes  was  revoct  in  1683,  and  became  an  East  India  mer- 
chant. In  1692,  he  edited  the  'Gentleman's  Magazine.'  His  first 
play  '  Love's  a  Jest'  came  out  in  1696.  This  was  followed  by  a  number 
of  others.  He  was  at  one  time  a  clerk  in  the  foreign  department  of 
\  the  General  Post  Office.  His  death  was  sudden,  and  it  was  sujjposcd 
he. was  poisoned,  though  the  apprehension  of  several  persons  failed  to 
involve  any  of  them. 
Secret  Love 624 

Norris,  John  (1657-1711),  divine,  was  born  at  CoUingbourne-Kingston, 
in  Wiltshire,  and  educated  at  Winchester  and  E.xeter  College,  Oxford. 
He  was  ordained  about  1684.  In  1692,  he  became  rector  of  Bcrmerton, 
where  he  remained  until  his  death.  Norris  was  the  last  of  the  Cam- 
bridge Platonists.  He  was  an  able  prose- wri ter ,  but  in  his  works 
interpreted  chiefly  the  Malebranche  theories  in  England.  His  most 
popular  book  '  Miscellanies',  appeared  in  1687,  and  included  liis  poems 

The  Aspiration 584 

Hymn  to  Darkness 589 

Oldmixon,  John  (1673-1742),  historian  and  pamphleteer,  came  of  an 
ancient  family  living  in  the  manor  of  Oldmixon,  near  Bridgwater.  In 
1696,  he  published 'Poems  on  Several  Occasions,  \\Titten  in  the  manner 
of  Anacreon',  and  in  the  next  two  years  produced  two  pastorals  which 
were  performed.  In  1703,  was  acted  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Field  'The 
Governor  of  Cyprus'  his  last  and  best  play.  In  170S,  began  to  appear 
his  histories,  among  which  are  'The  British  Empire  in  America',  the 


840 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 
'Critical  History  of  England',  and  the  'History  of  England  during 
the  Reigns  of  the  Royal  House  of  Stuarts'. 

Song  (Those  arts  which  common  beauties  move) 644 

To  Chloe 648 

Oldys,  Willl-ui  (1696-1761),  antiquary,  was  born  in  London,  and  ad- 
vanced in  life  by  his  own  abilities.  He  was  among  those  who  caught 
the  South  Sea  'madness'  and  lost  money  in  the  famous  'bubble'.  Ol- 
dys was  employed  by  a  London  bookseller  to  edit  and  supervise 
a  new  edition  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  'History  of  the  World',  in  1736, 
for  which  he  wrote  a  life  of  the  author.  He  became  literary  secretary 
to  the  Earl  of  O.xford;  contributed  to  the  first  edition  of  the.'  Biographia 
Britannica',  and  wrote  a  life  of  Charles  Cotton,  the  poet. 
To  a  Fly 744 

Otway,  Thomas  (1652-1685),  dramatist,  born  at  Trolton,  near  Midhurst, 
Sussex,  and  educated  at  Winchester  College,  and  Christ  Chiirch, 
Oxford.  Leaving  the  University,  he  went  to  London,  and  failing 
at  his  first  experience  to  become  an  actor,  began  wTiting  plays.  As  a 
dramatist  he  was  one  of  the  most  popular  in  his  day,  and  deservedly 
so,  for  his  dramas  are  marvellous  in  tragic  power,  tenderness,  and 
reach  a  liigh  level  of  art.  The  earliest  collected  edition  of  Otway's 
plays  appeared  in  1713,  in  two  volumes.  'Venice  Preserved',  and 
the  'Orphan'  are  the  best  known  of  these.  At  one  time  Otway  was 
on  military  duty  in  Holland. 
The  Enchantment 504 

Parker,  Martin  (d.  1656),  balladmonger,  was  supposedly  bom  in  Lon- 
don. He  was  a  staunch  royalist.  He  was  the  most  celebrated  balladist 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  Parker  was  also,  it  appears,  from  entries 
at  Stationer's  Hall,  the  author  of  several  romances,  among  which 
'Guy  Earl  of  Warwick' is  dated  1640.  Parker's  most  popular  ballad 
was  '  When  the  kings  cnjoyes  his  owne  againe.'  Many  of  his  ballads 
are  printed  in  the  Ro.xburghe  Collection  of  Ballads'. 
Sailors  for  my  Money 132 

Parn^ell,  Thomas  (1679-1718),  was  born  in  Dublin,  and  educated  at 
Trinity  College,  the  same  city.  He  was  ordained  about  1703,  and 
appointed  minor  canon  of  St.  Patrick,  Dublin.  He  was  a  member  of 
the  'Scriblerus  Club',  and  the  friend  of  Pope,  Arbuthnot,  Gay,  and 
Congreve.  Parnell  published  but  few  poems  during  his  life;  the  first 
collected  edition  was  issued  by  Pope,  in  1721.  His  work  ixj.ssesses 
qualities  which  border  on  greatness. 

Hymn  to  Contentment 615 

Song  (My  da\s  have  been  so  wondrous  free) 623 

Song  (When  thy  beauty  appears) 628 

An  Elegy  to  an  Old  Beauty 655 

The  Hermit 753 

A  Hymn  for  Evening 769 

A  Night  Piece  on  Death 770 

Pattison,  Willl^vm  (1706-1727),  was  born  at  Peasemarsh,  near  Rye, 
Susse.x,  and  educated  at  the  Appleby  Free  School,  and  Sidney-Sussex 
College,  Cambridge.  He  threw  himself  into  London  literary  life 
but  soon  after  dieci  of  the  small-pox.     The  year  following  his  death, 


841 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

the  'Poetical  Works  of  Mr.  William  Pattison,  late  of    Sidney-Sussex 
College',  was  published  by  Curll,  the  bookseller,  in  whose  house  he 
died. 
The  Indifferent 637 

Philips,  Katherine  (Oeinda),  (1631-1664),  was  the  daughter  of  John 
Fowler,  a  merchant,  and  was  born  in  the  parish  of  St.  Wary  \\'ool- 
church,  London.  Her  early  education  was  conducted  by  a  cousin, 
and  later  at  a  fashionable  boarding-school.  She  married  James  Philips 
of  the  Priory,  Cardigan,  in  1647.  Airs.  Philips  was  the  centre  of  a 
society  of  friendship  who  adopted  fanciful  names,  she  .signing  her.self, 
'Orinda',  to  which  her  contemporaries  added  the  epithet  'matchless' 
in  recognition  •  of  her  literary  talents.  She  translated  Corneille's 
'Pompee'  which  was  acted  with  great  success  at  Dublin  in  1662-3. 
An  unauthorised  edition  of  the  play  with  her  miscellaneous  poems 
appeared  in  1664.    She  died  of  smaU-pox  at  the  height  of  her  popularity. 

To  my  Excellent  Lucasia,  on  oin-  Friendship 450 

To  Mrs.  M.  A.  at  Parting 451 

The  Enquiry 453 

To  one  Persuading  a  Lady  to  Marriage 53  7 

Song  (How  prodigious  is  my  fate) 554 

To  Regina  Collier,  on  her  Cruelty  to  Philastcr 556 

Pope,  Alexander  (1688-1744),  was  born  in  Lombard  Street,  London,  and 
after  private  tuition  under  several  priests,  his  education  was  left  to 
his  own  devices.  He  pursued  a  great  amount  of  miscellaneous  read- 
ing, studying  according  to  his  own  account  French,  Italian,  Latin  and 
Greek,  and  making  himself  familiar  with  the  English  poets.  W  hen  he 
was  between  thirteen  and  fifteen  years  old  he  wrote  an  epic  poem  called 
'Alexander'.  Establishing  himself  in  town  when  he  was  fifteen.  Pope 
soon  made  himself  known  to  persons  of  eminence  in  the  literary  and 
social  world.  In  1709,  the  publication  of  the  'Pastorals'  established 
him  in  literature.  Two  years  later  appeared  the  'Essay  on  Criticism'; 
and  between  1712  and  1714,  the  'Rape  of  the  Lock'  and  'Windsor 
Forest'.  From  the  publication  of  the  latter  to  1725.  Pope  devoted  to 
his  translation  of  Homer  which  had  an  unprecedented  success  when 
published.  .After  this  began  his  long^career  as  a  satirist  mvolving  him  in 
many  disputes  and  quarrels.  He  succeeded  Dryden  as  the  literary 
dictator  of  his  time.  Pope's  activities  were  conlined  entirely  to  his 
life  as  a  writer,  owing  to  his  ill-health  and  to  the  fact  that  he  was  a 
Catholic. 

On  a  Certain  Lady  at  Court 640 

Pastoral:  Hylas  and  Aegon 662 

Eloisa  to  Abelard 665 

Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot 710 

Ode  to  Solitude 752 

The  Universal  Prayer 778 

The  Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul 781 

Elegy  to  the  Memory  of  an  Unfortunate  Lady 7  90 

Pope,  Dr.  Walter  (d.  1714),  astronomer,  was  a  native  of  Fawbley,  in 
Northamptonshire,  and  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  He 
spent  some  time  travelling  abroad,  and  returned  to  .succeed  Sir  Chris- 
topher Wren  as  professor  of  astronomy  in  Cresham  College,  Oxford. 
He  was  the  author  of  some  prose  works  and  translations,  but  is  best 
known  bv  his  poem  'The  Old  Man's  Wish,'  published  in  1710. 
The  Wish .' 761 


842 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Porter,  Walter  (1S9SP-1659),  composer,  and  master  of  the  choristers  of 
Westminster  Abbey.  During  the  Rebellion  he  lost  his  post.  His 
'Madrigales  and  Ayres'  was  issued  in  1634;  'Ayres  and  Madrigales', 
1639;  '  Psalms  and  Anthems',  1639;  'Mottetsof  two  voiccstoanOr^an, 
Harpsycon,  Lute,  or  Basso-viol',  1657;  and  'Divine  Hymns',  1604. 
Love  in  thy  Youth 30 

Prior,  Matthew  (1664-1721),  poet  and  diplomatist,  was  born  it  is  sup- 
posed, at  Winbourne  Minster,  East  Dor.set,  and  educated  at  West- 
minster School,  and  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge.  He  entered  the 
diplomatic  service  and  was  ambas.sador  to  the  Hague  in  1697.  He 
was  secretary  in  negotiations  at  the  treaty  of  Ryswick,  conveying  to 
England  the  articles  of  peace.  Prior  also  held  office  as  secretary  of 
state  for  Ireland;  and  was  attached  to  the  embassy  at  Paris  under  the 
Earl  of  Manchester.  In  1707,  appeared  '  Poems  on  Several  Occasions', 
and  in  1709,  his  friends  to  relieve  his  strained  condition  issued  by 
subscription  a  collection  of  his  poems  which  is  .said  to  have  netted  him 
four  thousand  pounds.  Lord  O.xford  added  to  this  the  gift  of  Down- 
hall,  in  Esse.x,  where  he  passed  his  remaining  days  in  comfort.  Prior 
was  a  master  of  vers  de  societe,  the  wit  and  grace  and  charm  of  which 
leaves  him  still  unequaled  in  this  field  of  poetry. 

To  a  Child  of  Qualitv .' 621 

■A  Letter,  etc 622 

A  Song  (If  wine  and  music  have  the  power) 629 

An  Ode 63 1 

The  Lady  who  offers  her  Looking-Gl.ass  to  N'enus 645 

The  Question  to  Lisetts:  Lisetta's  Reply 647 

The  Female  Pha^on 649 

A  Better  Answer 651 

To  a  Ladv,  she  Refusing  to  continue  a  Dispute,  etc 652 

To  Chloe  Weeping 654 

A  Song  (In  vain  you  tell  vour  parting  lover) 655 

On  my  Birthdav." " 680 

The  Secretary 686 

To  His  Soul 780 

For  my  own  Monument 793 

Sackville,  Charles,  Earl  of  Dorset  (1638-1706),  poet  and  courtier, 
was  educated  under  a  private  tutor,  and  trav(41cd  at  an  early  age  in 
Italy.  Returning  to  England  at  the  Restoration,  he  was  elected  to 
Parliament  for  East  Grinstead.  He  attended  very  little  to  his  duties, 
but  'became  a  courtier,  a  wit,  and  man  about  town,  and  for  some  years 
seemed  to  have  lived  a  very  dissipated  life.'  ^^'hcn  the  lust  Dutch 
War  broke  out,  he  volunteered  to  join  the  fleet,  and  took  an  honourable 
part  in  the  great  naval  engagement  of  June  3,  1665.  It  is  said  he 
wrote  the  famous  song  'To  all  you  ladies',  the  night  before  the  fight. 
Dor.set  took  no  part  in  the  Revolution,  and  declined  to  enter  public 
life  under  William. 

Song  (Phillis,  for  shame,  let  us  improve) 517 

Song  (Dorinda's  sparkling  wit  and  eyes) 520 

Song  written  at  Sea,  etc 524 

May  the  .Ambitious  ever  Find 535 

Song  (In  vain,  Clemene,  you  bestow) 536 

Sedley,  Sir  Chari.fs  (1639P-170I),  wit  and  dramatic  author, was  born  at 
Aylesford,  in  Kent,  the  posthuomous  son  of  Sir  John  Sodley,  and  at- 
tended Wadham   College,   O.xford,   but  took   no  degree.     .-Xftcr  the 


843 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Restoration  he  entered  Parliament  as  one  of  the  members  for  New 
Romney.     Sedley,  like  Dorset  in  early  life,  and  Rochester,  was  dis- 
solute and   implicated   in   drunken   frolics.     His   writings   consist   of 
some  prose  essays,  translations,  five  jjkiys,  and   a   number  of  scatter- 
ing lyrics. 

To  a  very  \  oung  Lady 488 

Love  still  has  something  of  the  Sea 500 

Phillis  Knotting 513 

Song  (Not,  Celia,  that. I  juster  am) 516 

Song  (Phillis,  men  say  that  all  my  vows) 518 

Song  (Phillis  is  my  only  joy) 542 

Sh.adweli  ,  Thom.'^s  (1642  .^-169.?'),  dramatist,  was  born  at  Bromhill  House, 
in  the  parish  of  Weeting,  and  educated  at  Bury  St.  Edmunds  and 
Ciaus  College,  Cambridge,  but  left  without  taking  a  degree,  and 
entered  the  Middle  Temple.  Shadwell's  first  play  'The  Sullen 
Lovers',  based  on  Mohcre's  '  Les  Facheux'  was  performed  at  I-in- 
coln's  Inn  Fields  in  1668.  Following  this  he  produced  a  number  of 
plays;  became  the  butt  for  one  of  Dryden's  best  satires '  Mac  Flecknoe'; 
and  was  appointed  Poet-Laureate  and  Historiographer  royal  to  succeed 
Dryden,  at  the  Revolution. 
The  Victory  in  Hungary , 573 

Sheffield,  John,  Duke  of  Buckingh.'kmshire  (1648-1720,  was  born  in 
London  and  succeeded  his  father  when  he  was  ten  years  old  as  third 
Earl  of  Mulgrave.  He  served  as  avokmtcer  in  bolhDulch  wars,  taking 
part  in  the  memorable  sea-fight  in  Southwold  Hay.  In  1673,  he  took 
command  of  the  ship  '  Captain',  the  'best  second-rate  ship  in  the  navy.' 
He  served  under  Turenne  in  the  French  army,  and  was  sent  in  command 
of  an  expedition  for  the  relief  of  Tangiers  in  1680.  Under  James  II. 
he  held  a  scat  in  the  Privy  Council  and  was  created  Lord  Chamberlain. 
He  opposed  the  reign  of  William  III.  and  became  leader  of  the  Tories 
in  the  House  of  Lords.  On  the  accession  of  Anne,  he  was  received  with 
high  favour  at  court;  appointed  Lord  Privy  Seal,  and  in  1702-3,  Anne 
created  him  Duke  of  Buckingham  and  Normanby. 

Song  (Come,  Celia,  let's  agree  at  last) 562 

Inconstancy  Excused 563 

Sheppard,  Samuel  (fl.  1646),  was  the  son  of  a  physician,  and  related  to 
Sir  Christopher  Clapham  of  Beamish,  in  Yorkshire,  to  whom  he  dedi- 
cated many  of  his  books.  He  took  holy  orders,  and  was  an  ardent 
royalist.  His  literary  career  commenced  about  1606,  as  amanuensis 
to  Ben  Jonson.  Twice  Sheppard  suffered  imprisonment  for  his  con- 
victions, once  for  a  period  of  fourteen  months  in  Newgate.  He  was 
the  author  of  some  ten  or  eleven  volumes  of  verse. 
Epithalamium 86 

Sherburne,  Sir  Edward  (1618-1702),  was  born  at  Goldsmith  Rents, 
Cripplegate,  London,  and  educated  at  a  local  school  kept  by  Thomas 
Farnaby,  and  later  under  Charles  .\lleyn.  the  historian  of  Henry  MI. 
After  travelling  abroad,  he  succeeded  his  father  as  clerk  of  ordnance 
of  the  Tower,  of  which  he  became  deprived  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
Civil  \\'ar  because  he  was  a  royalist  and  Catholic.  He  attended  the 
king  at  Oxford  until  the  surrender  when  he  removed  to  London  and 
lived  in  the  Middle  Temple.  .A.t  the  Restoration  he  was  restored  to 
public  service  which  he  quitted  at  the  Revolution,  living  afterwards  a 
quiet  and  studious  life.     Sherburne  translated  from  Seneca,  and  pub- 


844 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

lishcd  in  1651,  'Salmancis,  Lyrian,  and  Sylvia,  Forsaken  Lydia,  the 
Rape  of  Helen,  a  comment  thereon,  with  several  other  Poems  and 
Translalions',  which  contained  most  of  his  best  extant  verse. 

The  Fountain .  22 

The  Surprise 36 

Weeping  and  Kissing S3 

Novo  Inamoramento 68 

The  Vow 70 

The  Sweetmeat 72 

Change  defended 74 

Sprat,  Thomas,  Bishop  or  Rochester  (1635-1713),  was  born  at  Beamin- 
ster,  Dorset,  and  educated  at  Wadham  College,  Oxford.  Long  regarded 
as  a  man  of  wit  and  letters,  it  was  not  till  1679,  that  his  ability  as  a 
preacher  and  his  loyalty  as  a  'bold  upholder  of  high  church  doctrines 
and  divine  right  of  kings'  was  recognised.  In  1683,  he  was  installed 
as  dean  of  Westminster,  and  in  16S4,  appointed  Bishop  of  Rochester. 
Sprat  was  associated  with  Dean  Aldrich  in  revising  Lord  Clarendon's 
'History  of  the  Civil  War.' 
On  his  Mistress  Drowned 593 

Stanley,  Thomas  (1625-1678),  was  born  at  Cumberlow,  Hertfordshire,  and 
educated  at  Pembroke  Hall,  Cambridge.  After  spending  some  years 
abroad  travelling,  chiefly  in  France,  he  retired  towards  the  end  of 
the  Civil  war,  to  lodgings  in  the  Middle  Temple,  where  his  wealth 
permitted  him  to  engage  in  literary  work,  and  surround  himself  with 
a  cultivated  literary  society.  In  1647,  appeared  'Poems'  which  con- 
tained some  of  Stanley's  best  original  work,  together  with  translations 
from  Tasso,  Lope  de  Vega,  Guarini,  Marino,  and  Pelrarth.  Stanley 
was  a  student  of  Greek  philosophy,  and  published  a  '  History  of  Philoso- 
phy' the  first  volume  of  which  appeared  in  1655;  a  second,  1656,  third, 
1660,  and  a  fourth  entitled,  'The  History  of  Chaldaick  Philosophy', 
1662.  His  translation  of  .-Eschylus,  was  issued  in  1663.  There  were 
many  manuscript  volumes  left  by  the  poet  at  his  death  which  are  in 
the  University  Library  at  Cambridge. 

Expectation 31 

The  Magnet 35 

Celia,  Sleeping  or  Singing 47 

The  Kiss 52 

The  Relapse 71 

The  Disposition 73 

The  Exequies 75 

The  Parting 76 

The  Tomb 77 

Steele,  Sir  Richard  (1672-1729),  essayist,  dramatist,  and  politician, 
was  born  in  Dublin,  the  son  of  an  attorney,  and  educated  at  Christ 
Church,  Oxford.  He  left  College,  without  taking  a  degree,  and  joined 
the  army  as  a  gentleman  volunteer  in  the  Life-Guards  under  the 
command  of  the  Duke  of  Ormonde.  His  first  play  'The  Funeral; 
or.  Grief  a-la-Mode',  was  performed  at  Drury  Lane  in  1701.  This 
was  followed  by 'The  Lying  Lover',  1703,  and  the  'Tender  Husband', 
in  the  same  year.  After  this,  Steele  abandoned  the  stage  for  a 
while,  became  gentleman  waiter  to  Prince  George  of  Denmark;  and 
in  April  1709,  issued  the  first  number  of  the 'Tatler',  and  in  1711,  the 
'Spectator'.  While  the  'Spectator'  was  in  progress  Steele  made  his 
first  entry  into  politics:  v.-as  elected  to  Parliament  first  for  Slockbridge, 


845 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

in  Hampshire,  and  again  for   Boroughbridge,   Yorkshire.     He  was 
knighted  in   1715.     Steele  conducted  a  number  of  other  periodical 
ventures,  and  produced  his  last  comedy,  'The  Conscious  Lovers',  in 
1722. 
Song  (.Why,  lovely  charmer,  tell  me,  why) 63  9 

Stepney,  George  (1663-1707),  poet  and  envoy,  was  born  at  Westminster, 
London,  and  educated  at  Westminster  School  and  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge.  He  held  political  posts  and  was  sent  on  missions  to 
Vienna,  Brandenburg,  Germany,  and  Warsaw.  It  is  said  he  under- 
stood the  German  people  better  than  any  Englishman  of  his  day. 
Stepney  published  translations  from  Ovid  and  Juvenal.  His  poems 
have  been  collected  in  Chalmers'  'English  Poets'. 

\'erses.  Imitated  from  the  French  of  Mons.  Mavnard  to  Cardinal 

Richelieu 749 

To  the  Evening  Star 767 

Stevens,  George  Alixander  (1710-1784),  was  born  in  the  parish  of  St. 
Andrews,  Holborn,  the  son  of  a  London  tradesman  who  early  ai>- 
prenticcd  him  to  a  trade.  This  he  .^oon  left  to  join  some  strolling 
pla\ers  which  served  as  his  probation  to  the  stage.  He  first  acted 
regularly  in  Dublin,  and  later  was  engaged  at  Covent  Garden,  London. 
In  1764,  he  began  to  give  his  famous 'Lecture  on  Heads';  afterwards 
travelling  and  repeating  it  in  America.  It  is  said  he  amassed  over  ten 
thousand  pounds  by  this  'pioneer  of  the  monologue  entertainment.' 
Stevens  wrote  several. dramas,  but  was  not  successful  as  a  playwTight. 
The  Wine  Vault 745 

Swift,  Jonathan  (1667-1745),  satirist,  was  born  at  Hoey's  Court,  Dublin, 
and  educated  at  Trinity  College,  at  the  University  there.  At  tlie  out- 
break of  the  war  in  1688,  Swift  fled  to  England,  and  served  for  the 
next  eleven  years  as  secretary  to  Sir  William  Temple.  In  1692,  he 
went  to  Oxford  and  took  his  M.  A.  degree.  Returning  to  Ireland  he 
was  ordained  dfearon  in  1694,  and  priest  in  January  1695.  Swift  was 
associated  with  Oxford,  Hartley  and  Bolingbroke  in  the  political 
battles  which  raged  between  Whig  and  Tory  up  to  the  death  of  Queen 
Anne.  In  recognition  of  his  services  Bolingbroke  setured  his  pro- 
motion to  the  Deanery  of  St.  Patrick's,  Dublin.  Duriryr  these  years 
Swift  spent  a  large  portion  of  his  time  in  London,  was  high  in  literary 
and  social  circles,  and  was  a  '  leading  patron  of  good,  and  the  scourge  of 
bad  wTiters.'  With  the  death  of  Queen  Anne,  in  1714,  Swift's  hopes 
of  further  preferment  being  gone,  he  withdrew  to  his  Deanery  and 
settled  in  Dublin,  where  he  remained  the  rest  of  his  life. 

A  Description  of  the  Morning 607 

A  Description  of  a  City  Shower 612 

Stella's  Birthday,  1720 681 

Stella's  Birthday,  March  13,  1727 683 

Apollo's  Edict,  Occasioned  by  '  News  from  Parnassus' 693 

On  the  Death  of  Dr.  Swift 723 

A  Grub  Street  Elegy 741 

Tate.  Nashum  (1652-1715),  poet  and  dramatist,  was  born  in  Dublin,  and 
educated  at  Trinity  College,  the  same  city.  In  1677,  he  published  a 
volume  of  poems,  and  the  following  year  produced  his  first  drama 
'Brutus  of  .\lba.  or  the  Enchanted  Lovers'.  In  1681,  he  produced 
'Richard  III.'  entitled  'The  Sicilian  Usurper',  the  first  of  his  altered 
versions  of  Shakesjieare.  In  the  same  year  Betterton  appeared  at 
Dorset  Garden,  in  Tate's  version  of  'King  Lear',  and  though  it  was 


846 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


severely  criticised,  especially  by  Addison  in  the  'Spectator',  held  the 
stage  until  1840.  Tate  was  appointed  Poet  Laureate  in  1692,  in  suc- 
cession to  Shadwell.  He  was  the  author  of  a  number  of  plays,  transla- 
tions, and  a  '  New  Versions  of  the  Psalms'  in  metre,  which,  with  a 
second  collection  were  at  one  time  in  universal  use. 
Song  of  the  Priestesses  at  the  Tomb  of  Argaces 592 

TiCKELL,  Thomas  (1686-1740),  was  born  at  Bridekirk,  Cumberland,  and 
educated  at  Queen's  College,  Oxford.  In  1706,  he  published  his  first 
poem  'O.xford',  which  included  a  complementary  address  to  Addison, 
which  together  with  his  'Lines  to  Mr.  Addison,  on  his  Opera  Rosa- 
mond' won  the  greater  writer's  friendship.  When  Addison  was  ap- 
pointed secretary  of  state,  he  chose  Tickell  as  under-secretary.  Later 
Tickell  took  up  his  abode  in  Ireland,  and  there  was  given  the  important 
post  of  secretary  to  the  Lord  Justices  under  Lord  Carteret's  adminis- 
tration. When  Addison  died  he  gave  Tickell  directions  to  collect  his 
Works,  which  the  latter  published  in  four  volumes  in  1721.  His  best 
known  poem,  one  of  the  most  meritorious  elegies  in  the  language,  '  To 
the  Earl  of  Warwick  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  Addison',  was  published  in 
the  first  volume. 

To  Apollo  making  Love 650 

Colin  and  Lucy 658 

Theristes,  or  the  Lordling 739 

On  the  Death  of  the  Earl  of  Cadogan 785 

To  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  Addison 786 

TowNSEND,  AtJRELi."\N  (fl.  1601'),  belonged  to  the  Townsend  family  of 
Rainham.  He  was  at  one  time  steward  to  Sir  Robert  Cecil.  His 
intimacy  with  Ben  Jonson  was  close,  and  in  1608,  he  was  invited  by 
Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury  to  accompany  him  on  a  continental  tour 
because  of  his  '  perfect  colloquial  knowledge  of  French,  Italian,  and 
Spanish.'  Townsend  succeeded  Jonson  when  the  latter  was  ban- 
ished from  court,  as  composer  of  court  masques  to  Charles  I.,  and 
produced  in  1631-2,  'Albion's  Triumph'  and  'Tempe  Restored'. 
Townsend  edited  the  first  and  best  edition  of  Carew's  '  Poems',  in  1640. 

To  the  Lady  iMay 39 

Mercury  Complaining 68 

Traherne,  Thomas  (1636-1674)  Of  this  poet  nothing  was  known  until 
Mr.  Bartram  Dobcll  published  his  edition  of  the  Poetical  Works  of 
Thomas  Traherne,  B.  D.,  1903. 

The  Salutation 447 

Dumbness 457 

The  Choice 475 

The  Person 477 

On  News 582 

The  Preparative 585 

Vanbrugh,  Sir  John  (1664-1726),  dramatist  and  architect,  was  born  in 
the  parish  of  St.  Nicholas  Aeons,  London,  and  educated  at  the  Chester 
Grammar  School,  to  which  place  his  father  had  moved  in  1667.  In 
1683,  Vanbrugh  was  sent  to  France  where  he  received  his  architectural 
education.  In  two  years  he  was  back  in  London,  and  joined  the  army. 
In  1697,  he  produced  his  first  play,  the  'Relapse',  which  was  followed 
by  a  number  of  other  successful  comedies.  As  an  architect  Vanbrugh's 
beginning  is  obscured,  his  first  construction  of  importance  being  Castle 


847 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Howard,  commissioned  by  the  Earl  of  Carlisle.  In  1702,  he  suc- 
ceeded Talman  as  comptroller  of  the  Board  of  Works,  and  in  1704, 
appointed  Clarenceux  king-at-arms.  His  most  important  architectural 
achievement  was  Blenheim  Castle.  \'anbrugh  was  knighted  by 
George  11,  in  1714. 
A  Song  (I  smile  at  Love  and  all  its  arts) 630 

Vaughan,  Henry  (1622-1695'),  'silurist',  was  born  at  Nev;ton-by-Usk,  in 
the  parish  of  Llansaintffraed,  Brecknockshire,  and  educated  under 
the  tuition  of  Matthew  Herbert,  rector  of  Llangattock,  and  at  Jesus 
College,  O.xford.  Vaughan  left  Oxford,  spent  some  time  studying 
law,  but  t'mally  adopted  medicine.  In  1645,  he  began  to  practice,  first 
at  Brecknock,  and  later  in  his  native  place.  In  1650,  appeared  'Scintil- 
lans;  or  Sacred  Poems  and  Private  Ejaculations  by  Henry  N'aughan 
Silurist'.  In  1651,  his  brother  Thomas  published  '  Olor  Iscanus:  a 
Collection  of  some  select  Poems  and  Translations',  gathered  from  his 
brother's  manuscripts  which  he  had  attempted  to  destroy.  A  second 
part  of  'Scintillans'  was  issued  in  1655.  V'aughan's  poems  were 
practically  unknown  until  Wordsworth  brought  them  to  notice. 

Childhood .       87 

The  Burial  of  an  Infant 88 

The  Rainbow 92 

Abel's  Blood 126 

Man 178 

The  Retreat 181 

Corruption 182 

A.lliction  . 183 

The  World 187 

The  Favour 204 

The  Eclipse 204 

Come,  comcl  What  do  I  Here? 208 

The  Morning- Watch 209 

The  Dawning 210 

And  do  They  so?  Have  They  a  Sense 212 

I  Walk'd  the  other  Dav,  to  spend  my  Hour 215 

Peace 219 

The  Night 220 

They  are  all  Gone  into  the  World  of  Light 223 

ViLLiERs,  George,  Duke  of  Buckingham  (1628-1687),  was  born  at 
Wallingford  House,  Westminster,  and  educated  at  Irinity  College, 
Cambridge.  A  soldier  and  .statesman  Buckingham's  career  was 
neither  creditable  nor  lustrous.  As  an  author  he  published  some 
pamphlets,  'The  Rehearsal',  a  single  drama,  and  a  few  occasional 
verses,  the  most  memorable  of  which  is  his  elegy  on  Lord  Fairfax. 

To  His  Mistress ." 48 

An  Epitaph  on  Thomas,  third  Lord  Fairfax 92 

Walsh,  William  (1663-1708),  was  born  at  Abberley,  Worcestershire,  and 
educated  ;U  Wadhara  College,  Oxford,  which  he  left  without  taking 
his  degree.  He  was  elected  to  Parliament  for  Worce.stcrshire,  in  169S, 
and  held  the  post  of  gentleman  of  the  horse  from  the  beginning  of 
Queen  Anne's  reign  to  his  death.  He  was  a  man  of  fa.s'.iion,  and  is 
chiefly  remembered  in  connection  with  Pope  who  was  indebted  to  him 
for  early  literary  encom-agement  and  advice. 
Phyllis's  Resolution 547 


848 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


■  PACE 

Song  (Of  all  the  torments,  all  the  cares) 557 

The  Despairing  Lover 558 

Sonnet , 5  90 

To  his  Book 603 

Ward,  Edward  (1667-1731),  humourist  of  'low  Extraction',  and  with  little 
education  was  born  in  Oxfordshire.  Early  in  life  he  visited  the  West 
Indies,  and  afterwards  he  began  business  as  a  publican  in  Moorfields. 
For  attacking  the  Government  in  a  book  called  'Hudibras',  1705,  he 
was  forced  to  stand  in  the  'pillory  at  the  Royal  Exchange  and  Charing 
Cross.'  In  1717,  Ward's  '  ^liscellaneous  Writings'  were  issued  in  six 
volumes.  His  most  important  work  is  the  'London  Spy'  published 
originally  in  montlily  folios,  beginning  November  1698,  and  issued 
as  a  book  1703. 
A  South  Sea  Ballad 567 

Washbourne,  Thomas  (1606-1687),  canon  of  Gloucester,  was  born  in 
Wichenford,  Gloucestershire,  and  educated  at  Balliol  ColleKc,  Oxford. 
Taking  holy  orders,  Washbourne  was  made  ret  tor  of  Loddington,  in 
Northamptonshire,  in  1639,  and  of  Dumbleton,  Gloucestershire,  1640. 
In  1643,  he  was  installed  prebend  of  Gloucestershire  Cathedral  which 
position  he  held  during  the  Civil  War.  From  1660  to  1668,  he  was 
vicar  of  St.  Mary's,  Gloucester.  Washbourne  v.as  the  author  of  two 
published  sermons  and  of  a  volume  of  'Divine  I'oems',  1654. 
The  Rock 213 

Watts,  Isaac  (1674-1748),  hymn--nTiter,  was  born  at  Southampton,  and 
educated  at  the  Grammar  School,  and  at  an  academy  at  Stoke-Xewing- 
ton.  Leaving  the  academy  Watts  spent  nearly  three  years  at  home, 
when  he  first  commenced  to  compose  his  hymns.  In  1696,  he  be- 
came tutor  to  the  son  of  Sir  John  Hartopp  with  whom  he  remained 
for  five  years.  In  1698,  he  became  assistant  to  Isaac  Chauncy  in  a 
cliapel  in  Mark  Lane.  Stoke-Newington,  and  preached  his  first  sermon. 
He  succeeded  to  the  pastorage  in  1702.  Watts  was  one  of  the  most 
popular  writers  of  his  day;  beside  his  hymns  he  issued  a  number  of 
educational  manuals  on  religious  subjects.  In  1810,  a  collected  edition 
of  his  works  was  issued  in  six  volumes. 

A  Cradle  Hymn 776 

The  Day  of  Judgment 782 

Webbe,    Charles    (c.    1678)  Of  this  author  nothing  seems  to  be  known. 
Song  (More  love  or  more  disdain  I  crave) 538 

Wharton,  Anne,  Marchioness  of  Wharton  (1632?-1685),  was  born  in 
Oxfordshire,  the  second  daughter  of  Sir  Henry  Lee.  In  1673,  she 
married  Thomas  Wharton,  afterwards  first  Marcjuis  of  Wh  ::ton.  Site 
corresponded  with  Dr.  Gilbert  Burnet  with  whom  she  exchanged 
manuscript  verses.  It  .seems  she  published  nothing  during  her  life, 
but  a  collection  entitled  'The  Temple  of  Death,'  appeared  in  1695. 
She  also  left  a  blan'-c -verse  tragedy,  'Love's  Martyr,  or  Witt  above 
Crownes',  which  I  believe  is  still  in  manuscript.  Her  married  life 
was  unhappy,  and  she  contemplated  a  divorce  in  1682,  from  which  she 
was  dissuaded  by  Dr.  Burnet. 
Song  (How  hardly  I  concealed  my  tears) 549 

Wilde,  Robert  (1609-1679),  Puritan  divine,  was  the  son  of  a  shoemaker, 
born  at  St.  Ives,  Huntingdonshire.     He  was  inducted  into  the  living 


849 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

of  Aynhoe,   Northamptonshire,    1646.   Despite   his   non-conformity, 
Wilde  was  a  royalist,  and  celebrated  the  Restoration  in  a  long  series  of 
poems.     Most  of  his  verses  were  issued  as  broadsides;  an  edition  was 
edited  by  the  Rev.  John  Hunt,  and  published  in  London  1870. 
An  Epitaph 251 

WiLMOT,  John,  Earl  of  Rochester  (1647-1680),  was  born  at  Ditchley, 
Oxfordshire,  and  educated  at  Wadham  College,  Oxford.  Leaving 
the  LTniversity  he  travelled  in  France  and  Italy;  and  on  his  return 
home  presented  himself  at  court.  In  1665,  he  joined  the  fleet  as  a 
volunteer,  and  took  part  in  the  Dutch  ^\'ar.  At  court  Rochester  was 
on  intimate  relations  with  the  king,  and  boon  companion  to  such 
notable  libertines  as  George  Villiers,  second  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
the  Earl  of  Dorset,  and  Sir  Charles  Sedley;  and  although  he  was 
their  junior  by  many  years,  soon  excelled  all  ol  them  in  profligacy.'  He 
played  the  part  of  a  patron  of  the  poets,  and  showed  his  characteristic 
fickleness  in  his  treatm.ent  of  them.  \\  ithin  a  few  nionihs  of  his  death 
appeared  a  volume  of  '  Poems  on  several  Occasions,  by  the  Right 
Honourable  the  Earl  of  Rochester'  for  the  publication  of  which  he 
does  not  seem  to  be  responsible.  A  later  edition  in  1685,  ascribed 
to  a  '  Late  person  of  Honour'  contained  further  additions.  The  vol- 
ume was  reprinted  in  1691  and  1696. 

Upon  Nothing 485 

Constancy 505 

Love  and  Life 506 

To  his  Mistress ■- 506 

The  Mistress 509 

A  Song  (My  dear  mistress  has  a  heart) 510 

Song  (Absent  from  thee  I  languish  still) 532 

Song  (Dear,  from  thine  arms  then  let  me  fly) 546 

Song  (When  on  those  lovely  looks  I  gaze) 560 

Song  (Give  me  leave  to  rail  at  j'ou) 561 

Upon  Drinking  in  a  Bofrl 570 

The  Commons'  Petition  to  King  Charles  II . 572 

Epitaph  on  Charles  II 593 

Wilson,  John  (1595-1674),  musician,  was  born  at  Faversham  in  Kent, 
and  u-ceeded  Alphonso  Bates  as  musician  to  the  king.  When  the 
Oxf  rd  garrison  surrendered,  he  entered  the  household  of  Sir  \\  illiam 
Waller  jf  Sarden.  In  1656,  he  was  appointed  choragus  at  the  re- 
establishment  of  the  professorship  of  music  at  Oxford,  resigning  it  in 
1661,  to  become  chamber  musician  to  Charles  II.;  in  1662,  he  suc- 
ceeded Henry  Lawes  as  gentleman  of  the  Chapel  Royal.  Among  his 
publications  are:  'Select  Ayres'.  1652;  '  Catch  as  Catch  can',  '  Pleasant 
Musical  Companion',  1667;  and  "Cheerful  Ayres  or  Ballads',  Oxford, 
1660. 

Greedy  Lover,  pause  awhile 61 

^\  hen  on  mine  Eyes  her  Eyes  first  Shone 66 


850 


INDEX  TO  TITLES 


PAGE 

A  Ballad 660 

A  Better  Answer 651 

A  Cradle  Hymn 776 

A  Description  of  a  City  Shower  612 

A  Description  of  the  Morning  . .  607 

A  Grub  Street  Elegy 741 

A  Hymn  for  Evening 769 

A  Lady  to  a  Young  Courtier .  . .  523 
A    Letter    to    the    Honourable 

Lady   Miss  Margaret  Caven- 
dish Hollcs-Harley 622 

A  Lyke-Wake  Dirge 42  7 

A  Mock  Song 51 

A  Night-Piece  on  Death 771 

A  Nocturnal  Reverie 767 

A  Pagan  Epitaph 249 

A  Pastoral 677 

A  Pastoral  Song 550 

A  Poetic  Descant  upon  a  Private 

Music-Meeting 174 

A  Royal  Lamentation 162 

A  Scotch  Song 528 

A    Song    (Absent    from    thee    1 

languish  still) 532 

A  Song  (Fair,  sweet  and  young, 

receive  a  prize) 543 

A  Song  for   St.   Cecilia's   Day, 

.1687 466 

A  Song   (I  smile  at  Love  and 

all  its  arts) .  630 

A    Song    (If    wine    and    music 

have  the  power) 629 

A  Song  (In  vain  you  tell  your 

parting  lover) 655 

A  Song  (My  dear  Mistress  has 

a  Heart 510 

A  Song  (Persuade  me  not  there 

is  a  grace) 645 

A  Song  to  a  Fair  young  Lady, 

Going  out  of  the  Town  in  the 

Spring 448 

A  South  Sea  Ballad 567 

A  Wish  (Flatman) 579 

A  Wisli  (Cowley) 95 

Abel's  Blood 126 

Affliction 183 

Alexander's  Feast,  or  the  Power 

of  Music 468 


PAGE 

Amorct 627 

An    Account    of    the    Greatest 

English  Poets 696 

An  Elegy,  To  an  old  Beauty  . .  .  655 

An  Epigram 723 

An  Epilogue 50 

An  Epitaph  on  Thomas,  Third 

Lord  Fairfax 241 

An  Epitaph  upon — 249 

/\n  Epistle  to  the   Right   Hon- 
ourable the  Earl  of  Burlington 

(.\  Journey  lo  Exeter) 607 

An  Horatian  Ode,  Upon  Crom- 
well's Return  from  Ireland 108 

An  Ode    .    631 

And  do  they  so?  Have  they  a 

Sense 212 

Annan  Water 43 1 

Apollo's  Edict  '  Occasioned'  by 

News  from  Parnassus 693 

At  a  Solemn  Musick 177 

Bermudas 217 

Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray 428 

Bonnie  George  Campbell 353 

Bonny  Barbara  .^llan 393 

Brutus 113 

Burd  Helen 429 

Captain  Care,  or  Edom  o'  Gor- 
don   343 

Careless  Content 750 

Celia,  Sleeping  or  Singing 47 

Change  Defended 74 

Child  Waters 377 

Childhood 87 

Chloe  Divine 529 

Chloe's  Triumph 511 

Clerk  ColvUI 417 

Clerk  Saunders 367 

Colin  and  Lucy 658 

Come,  Come!  What  do  I  here? .  208 

Come,  Sweet  Lass 449 

Constancy 505 

Contentation 480 

Corruption 182 

Crucifixus  Pro  Nobis 202 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAOE 

Damilcar  s  Song 534 

David's  Song 46 

Divine  Ode 775 

Drinking 151 

Dumbness , 457 

Earl  Brand 354 

Edward 400 

Elegv    to    the    Memory    of    an 

Unfortunate  Lady 790 

Eloisa  to  Abelard 665 

Epitaph   (He  who  Heaven  did 

call  away) 247 

Epitaph   (Here  lies  a   piece   of 

Christ;  a  star  in  dust) 251 

Epitaph  (In   this  marble  casket 

lies    250 

Epitaph    (She    on    this    clayen 

pillow  layed  her  head) 250 

Epitaph  on  Charles  II 593 

Epithalamium '86 

Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot 710 

Evening  Hymn 219 

Expectation 31 

Eyes  and  Tears 90 

Fading  Beauty 553 

Fair  Annie 383 

False  though  She  be  to  Me  and 

Love 654 

Fine  Flowers  in  the  Valley 421 

Fly  envious  Time,  till  thou  run 

out  thy  race 180 

For  Hope 93 

For  my  Own  Monument 793 

For  Thoughts 580 

Friendship     and     Single     Life 

against  Love  and  Marriage. ..  81 

Fuscara,  or  the  Bee  Errant 58 

Greedy  lover,  pause  awhile 61 

Harvest  Home 461 

He  or  She  that  Hopes  to  Gain.  .  503 

Hind  Horn 439 

Humility 74 

Hunting  Song 460 

Husbandry 38 

Hymn 200 

Hymn  to  Contentment 615 

Hymn  to  Darkness 589 

Hymn  ;  to  Light 3 

I    Walk'd    the    other    Day,    to 

spend  my  Hour 215 

Incantation 462 

Incantation     (You     twice     ten 

hundred  deities) 463 

Inconstancy  Excused 563 

8S3 


PAGE 

II  Penseroso 168 

Johney  Scot 357 

Kinmot  Willie 335 

Ladies  Farewell,  I  must  Retire.  529 

L'AUegro 163 

Laura  Sleeping 520 

Les  Amours 50 1 

Life's  Progress 794 

Like  a  lop  which  runneth  round 
Lines,    Printed  under   the   Por- 
trait of  Milton 574 

Little     Musgrave     and     Lady 

Barnard 402 

Lord  Donald 398 

Lord     Strafford's     Meditations 

in  the  Tower 159 

Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet. .  388 

Love  and  Life 506 

Love   Gregor:   or,   the   Lass  of 

Lochroyan 373 

Love  in  Thy  Youth 30 

Love's  New  Philosophy 489 

i^ove  still  has  Something  of  the 

Sea 500 

Love  will  lind  out  the  Way 492 

Lovalty  Confined 1 56 

Lycidas 227 

Man 178 

Mary  Ambree 350 

May  the  Ambitious  even  Find. .  535 

Mercury  Complaining 68 

Mounting  Hyperboles 45 

Mr.      Pope's     Welcome     from 

Greece 701 

My  Own  Epitaph 792 

No    more    unto    my    Thoughts 

appear 45 

Novo  Inamoramento 68 

Ode  (Fair  Isabel,  if  ought  but 

thee) 514 

Ode  (The  day  is  set  did  earth 

adorn) 571 

Ode  of  Wit 105 

Ode  on  Solitude 752 

On  a  Certain  Lady  at  Court  . . .  640 

On  a  Drop  of  Dew 8 

On  a  Fair  Beggar 522 

On  a  Fly 744 

On  an  Hour-Glass 455 

On   His   being   Arrived   at   the 

Age  of  Twenty-Tliree 98 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

On  His  Ulindness 185 

On  His  Oct  cased  Wife 225 

On  His  MisUess  Drowned 593 

On  Lydia  Distracted 520 

On  Mr.  Abraham  Cowley's 
Death    and    Hurial    amongst 

the  Ancient  Poets; 244 

On  my  Birthday 680 

On  News 582 

On  Paradise  Lost 117 

On  Shakespear,  1630 116 

On  the  Death  of  Dr.  Swift 723 

On  the  Death  of  Mr.  Crashaw  .  233 
On  the  Death  of  Mr.   William 

Hervev 234 

On   the 'Death  of   the   Earl   of 

Cadogan 785 

On  the  Death  of  Waller 595 

On  the  Eyes  and  Breasts  of  the 
Lady  on  whom  He  was  En- 
amoured   508 

On  the  late  Massacher  in  Pie- 

mont 126 

On    the    Morning    of    Christ's 

Nativity 191 

On  the  Origin  of  Evil 773 

On  Time ISO 

Pastoral:  Hylas  and  Aegon 662 

Peace 219 

Phillida  Flouts  Me 538 

Phillis  Inamorata 49 

Phillis  Knotting 513 

Phyllis's  Resolution 547 

Poets  and  their  Theft 141 

Prologues  to  the  University  of 
Oxford: 

L  Spoken  by   Mr.   Hart, 
at  the  acting  of  the  '  Silent 

Woman',  1673 575 

n.  Spoken  by  Mr.  Hart, 

1674 576 

in.  1681 578 

Robin  Hood  and  Allin  a  Dale..  273 
Robin  Hood  and  Guy  of  Gis- 

borne 302 

Robin  Hood  and  Little  John.  . .  259 

Robin  Hood  and  the  Butcher...  298 

Robin  Hood  and  the  King 265 

Robin  Hood  and  the  Monk ....  284 
Robin  Hood's  Death  and  Buri- 
al   312 

Robin  Hood  Rescuing  the  Wid- 
ow's Three  Sons 279 

Rondeau 564 

Roundelay 512 


PAGE 

Sailors  for  my  Money 132 

Sally  in  our  Alley 633 

Secret  Love 624 

Semele  to  Jupiter 641 

See'st  not  my  Love,  with  what  a 

Grace 42 

Sir  Patrick  Spens   315 

Song     (Ah,     fading     joy!  how 

quickly  art  thou  past) 588 

Song    by    I^ady    Happy,    as    a 

Sea  Goddess 133 

Song  (Can  life  be  a  blessing) ....      559 
Song  (Come,  Celia,  let's   Agree 

at  last) 562 

Song  (Come,  come,  thou  glori- 
ous object  of  my  sight) 43 

Song    (Dear,    from    tliinc    arms 

then  let  me  fly) 546 

Song    (Dorinda's   sparkling   wit 

and  eye) 520 

Song  (Farewell,  ungrateful  trait- 
or)      555 

Song  (Give  me  leave  to  rail  at 

you) 561 

Son?    (Hear,    ye   sullen   powers 

below) 464 

Song  (H  iw  happy  the  lover) ...      535 
Son3  (How  hardly  I  concealed 

my  tears) 549 

Song    (How    prodigious    is    my 

fate) 554 

Song    (I    feed   a    flame   within, 

which  so  torments  me) 542 

Song    (If   she    be   not   as   kind 

as  fair) 552 

Song    (In    vain,    Clemene,    you 

bestow) 536 

Song     (Join    once    again,     my 

Celia   join) 515 

Song   (Ladies,    though   to   your 

conquering  eyes) 519 

Song  (Love  in  fantastic  triumph 

sate) 499 

Song      (Look      Nymphs,      and 

Shepherds,  look) 10 

Song  (More  love  or  more  disdain 

I  crave) 538 

Song  ( Morpheus  the  humble  god. 

that  dwells) 223 

Song   (My   days   have   been   so 

wondrous  free) 623 

Song    (Xo,    no,    [oor    suffering 

heart,  no  change  endctivour)  .     562 
Song  (Not,  Celia,  that  I  juster 

am) 516 

Song   (Nymphs   and   Shepherds 
dance  no  more) 12 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

Song  (O  Love,  that  stronger  art 

than  Wine) 503 

Song     (O     ruddier     than     the 

cherry) 629 

Song   (Of  all  the  torments,   all 

the  cares) 557 

Song  of  the   Priestesses  at   the 

Tomb  of  Argaces 592 

Song  on  a  Mav  morning 3 

Song  (Only  tell  her  that  I  love) .  .  631 
Song  (O'er  the  smooth  enameld 

green) 11 

Song  (PhiUis,  for  shame,  let  us 

improve) 517 

Song  (PhiUis  is  my  only  joy)  . .  542 
Song  (PhiUis,  men  say  that  all 

my  vows) 5  IS 

Song    (Pious    Selinda    goes    to 

prayers) 636 

Song     (Sabrina  fair!) 137 

Song  (See,  O  see!) 89 

Song     (See,     see,     she     wakes, 

Sabina  wakes!) 627 

Song    (Some  thirty  or  forty  or 

fifty  at  least) 527 

Song     (Sweet     Echo,     sweetest 

Nymph  that  liv'st  unseen)  ...  136 
Song    (Tell    me,    Thyrsis,    tell 

your  anguish) 545 

Song     (The     happiest     mortals 

once  were  we) 550 

Song    (When    on    those    lovely 

looks  I  gaze) 560 

Song  (When  thy  beauty  ap- 
pears)      628 

Song,    written    at    Sea,    in    the 

First  Dutch  War   (1665)   the 

Night  before  the  Engage- 
ment       524 

Song    (Why,    dearest,    shouldsf 

thou  weep,  when  I  relate). ...  531 
Song  (Why,  lovely  charmer,  tell 

me,  why) 639 

Song  (Ye  happy  swains  whose 

hearts  are  free) 554 

Song    (You    charmed    me    not 

with  that  fair  face) 544 

Sonnet 590 

St.  Stephen  and  Herod 443 

Stella's  Birthday,  1720 681 

Stella's    Birthday,     March     13, 

1727 683 

Sweet     William's     Farewell     to 

Black-Eyed  Susan 634 

TamLin 410 

854 


PAGE 

Thamcsis'  Song 465 

Thomas  the  Rhymer 407 

The  Advice 639 

The  .'\nK\^'cr 640 

The  Answer,  to  Pope's  lmpromi> 

tu 642 

The  Aspiration . . .  .■ 584 

The   Author's  .\pology   for   His 

Book 143 

The  Bailiff's  Daughter  of  Isling- 
ton   441 

The  Battle  of  Otterbourne 319 

The  Blind  Eoy 617 

The  Bonnie  House  o'  Airly 348 

The  Burial  of  an  Infant 88 

The  Call 497 

The  Change 765 

The  Choice 475 

The  Chronicle:  A  Ballad 55 

The     Commons'     Petition     to 

King  Charles  II 572 

The  Coronet 207 

The  Daemon  Lover 422 

The. Dawning 210 

The  Day  of  Judgment 782 

The  Declaimer 642 

The  Defiance 552 

The  Definition  of  Love 29 

The  Despairing  Lover 558 

The  Disposition 73 

The  Dowy  Houms  of  Yarrow  . .  362 

The  Dream 547 

The    Dving    Christian    to    His 

Soul 781 

The  Eclipse 204 

The  Enchantment 504 

The  Enquiry 453 

The  Epicure 152 

The  Epicure:  Another. 152 

The  Excellency  of  Wine 153 

The  E.xequies 75 

The  Fair  Singer 39 

The  Fair  Stranger 530 

The  Favour 204 

The  Female  Phaeton 649 

The  Forsaken  Maid 72 

The  Fountain 22 

The  Gay  Goshawk 434 

The  Garden 14 

The  Goat  without  a  Beard 689 

The- Hare  with  many  Friends  .  .  691 

The  Healths 154 

The  Hermit 753 

The  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot 324 

The  Indifferent 637 

The  Jugglers 687 

The  Kiss 52 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


The  Lady  who  offers  her  Look- 

ing-Glass  to  Venus 645 

The  Libertine 559 

The  Lure 494 

The  Magnet 35 

The  Merry  Beggars 13 

The  Morning- Watch 209 

The  Mistress 509 

The  Mower  against  Gardens.  . .  16 

The  Mower  to  the  Glow-Worms.  50 

The  Mower's  Song 53 

The  Night 220 

The  Nymph  complaining  for  the 

Death  of  her  Fawn 24 

The  Parting 76 

The   Pastime  of  ths   Queen  of 

Fairies 19 

The  Person    477 

The  Philosopher's  Devotion.  .. .  189 
The  Picture  of  Little  T.  C.  in  a 

Prospect  of  Flowers 18 

The  Pilgrim 185 

The  Plaything  Changed 502 

The  Poet  and  the  Rose 626 

The  Preparative 585 

The  Queen's  Marie 394 

The  Question,  to  Lisetta:  Liset- 

ta's  Reply 647 

The  Rainbow 92 

The  Rebel  Scot 128 

The  Relai)se 71 

The  Resolve 69 

The  Retreat  181 

The  Rock 213 

The  Rosebud 625 

The  Sad  Day 591 

The  Salutation 447 

The  Secretary 683 

The  Shepherd  Boy  Singsl  in  the 

Valley  of  Humiliation 186 

The  Song  of  Venus 533 

The  Spring 33 

The  Star  that  bids  the  Shepherd 

fold 134 

The  Surprise 36 

The  Swallow 9 

The  Sweetmeat 72 

The  Three  Ravens 425 

The  Tomb 77 

The  Tree 619 

Tri.les 747 

The  Twa  Corbies 426 

The  Twa  Sisters 365 

The  Universal  Prayer 778 

The  Valediction 25 1 

The  Victory  in  Hungary 573 

The  Vow 70 


PAGE 

The  Wife  of  Usher's  Well 410 

The  Winchester  Wedding 564 

The  Wine  Vault 755 

The  Wish 96 

The  Wish  (If  I  live  to  be  old,  for 

I  find  I  go  down) 761 

The  World 187 

Themista's  Reproof 141 

There  was  a  Maid  came  out  of 

Kent 434 

Therister,  or  the  Lordling 739 

They    are    all    Gone    into    the 

World  of  Light 223 

Those     arts     which      Common 

Beauties  move 644 

To  a  Child  of  Quality,  etc 62 1 

To  a  Lady,  asking  how  long  he 

would  Love  Her 517 

To  a  Lady  making  Love 638 

To  a  Lady,  she  Refusing  to  con- 
tinue a  Dispute,  etc 652 

To  a  Very  young  Lady 487 

To  a  Very  young  Lady  (Sedley).  4S8 

To  a  Virtuous  young  Lady 97 

To  Apollo  making  Love 650 

To   Chloe   (Prithee,   Chloe,   not 

so  fast) 648 

To  Chloe,  Weeping 654 

To  Coelia 531 

To  Cynthia,  on  Concealment  of 

her  Beauty 66 

To   Cynthia,    on    her    Mother's 

Decease 226 

To  Cyriack  Skinner 120 

To  His  Book 603 

To  His  Coy  Mistress 40 

To  His  Mistress , 506 

To  His  Mistress .■ 48 

To  His  Soul 780 

To  Julia,  to  Expedite  her  Prom- 
ise    62 

To  Mira 548 

To  Mr.  Hobbes 120 

To  Mr.  Lawrence 119 

To  Mrs.  iM.  A.  at  Parting 45 1 

To    my    Excellent   Lucasia,    on 

her  Friendship 450 

To  One  Persuading  a  Lady  to 

Marriage 537 

To     Regina     Collier,     on     her 

Cruelty  to  Philaster 556 

To  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  on  his 

Picture  of  the  King 707 

To  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  on  the 

Death  of  .Mr.  Addison 786 

To  the  Evening  Star 766 

To  the  Lady  Margaret  Ley.  ..  .  119 

855 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

To  the  I.ady  May 39 

To  the  Lord  General  Cromwell, 

May  1652 108 

To  the  Memory  of  Mr.  Oldham,  594 

To  the  Nightingale 23 

To  the  Nightingale  (Winchilsea)  618 

To  the  Ocean  now  I  Fly 139 

To   the   Pious   Memory   of   the 

Accomplished     young     Lady 

Mrs.  Anne  Killigrew 596 

To  the  Royal  Society 99 

To   the   State   of   Love,   or   the 

Senses'  Festival 78 

Upon  Black  Eyes,  and  Becoming 

Frowns 64 

Upon  Drinking  in  a  Bowl 570 

Upon  Nothing 485 

L'pon  the  Weakness  and  Misery 

of  Man 179 

Upon  Tom  of  Christ  Church ...  124 

Verses,  Imitated  from  the  French 
of  Mons.  Maynard  to  Cardinal 

Richelieu 749 


PAGE 

Verses,  sent  by  Lord  Melcombe 
to  Dr.  Young,  not  long  before 
His  Death 783 

Verses,  written  for  the  Toasting- 
Glasses  of  the  Kit-Cat  Club, 
1703 646 

We  must  not  Part  as  Others  Do  .       35 

Weeping  and  Kissing 53 

What  is  Love  ? 28 

When  I  a  Lover  pale  do  see. ...      524 
When  on  mine  eyes  her  eyes  first 

shone 66 

When  the  Assault  was  intended 

to  the  Citv 125 

Whilst  I  beheld  the  Neck  o'  th' 

Dove 205 

Willie  Drowned  in  Yarrow 432 

Written  on  a  White  Fan  bor- 
rowed from  Miss  Osborne, 
afterwards  his  Wife 519 

You  Pleasing  Dreams  of  Love 

and  Sweet  Delight 498 

Young  Love 32 


856 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


PAGE 

A  juggler  long  through  all  the  town Gay  687 

A  kiss  I  begged,  but  smiling,  she Sherburne  53 

A  thousand  martyrs  I   have  made Behn  559 

A  trilling  song  you  shall  hear Farquhar  747 

Absent  from  thee  I  languish  still Roclnslcr  532 

Ah,  Chloris!  that  I  could  not  sit Scdlfy  488 

Ah,  fading  joy!  how  quiikly  art  thou  past! D<-y(lcn  588 

Ah,  how  sweet  it  is  to  love .  .  . Drydr.n  534 

Ah!  what  time  wilt  Thou  come?  When  shall  that  cry Vaughan  210 

All  in  the  Downs  the  fleet  was  moor'd Gay  634 

All  my  past  life  is  mine  no  more Rochester  506 

All  travellers  at  first  incline S-a-'iJI  681 

An  age,   in  her  embraces  past Roehesler  509 

And  do  they  so?  have  they  a  sense Vinighan  212 

And  yet  anew  entangled  see Sherburne  68 

Annan  Water's  wading  deep Alton.  431 

April  is  past,  then  do  not  shed Kynaslon  226 

As  birds  to  hatch  their  young  do  sit  in  spring Newcasllc  141 

As  doctors  give  physic  by  way  of  prevention Prior  793 

As  I  was  sitting  on  the  grass Anon.  550 

As  I  was  walking  all  alane Anon.  426 

As  it  fell  one  holy-day Anon.  402 

As   Rochefoucault   his   maxims   drew Swift  723 

Ask  not  the  cause  when  sullen  Spring Drydcn  448 

Ask  the  empress  of  the  night Stanley  35 

At  Winchester  was  a  Wedding D'Urfey  565 

Avenge  O  Lord  thy  slaughter'd  Saints,  whose  bones Milton  126 

Awake,   awake    my    Lyre    Cowley  46 

Barefoot  and  ragged,  with  neglected  hair Ayrcs  522 

Be  not  too  proud,  imperious  dame Flatinan  552 

Beat  on,  proud  billows;  Boreas,  blow L'E.'ttrange  156 

Beneath  the  shade  a  spreading  beech  displays Pope  662 

Black  Eyes!  in  your  dark  orbs  do  lie Hoivell  64 

Blest  infant  bud,  whose  blossom-life Vaughan  88 

Blest  pair  of  Sirens,  pledges  of  Heav'ns  joy Millon  177 

Bright  Star!  by   Venus  fixed  alone S'rpney  767 

Busy,  curious,   thirsty  fly!    Oldys  744 

By  my  life  I  vow Sherburne  70 

By  the  blue  taper's  trembling  light   Parnell  770 

Can  life  be  a  blessing Drydcn  559 

Captaine  or  Colonel,  or  Knight  in  arms Milton  125 

Careful  observers  may  foretell  the  hour Swift  612 

Cea se,  fond  Shepherd !  Cease  despairing Montagu  639 

Chide,   chide  no  more,  away Stanley  31 

Childe  Walters  in  his  stable  slroode .Anon.  377 


857 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


PAGE 

Chloe  found  Amyntas  lying Drydcn  512 

Chloe's  a  Nymph  in  llowery  groves D'Urfey  529 

Choose  the  darkest  part  o'  the  grove Dryden  463 

Clerk  Colvill  and  his  lusty  dame Anon.  417 

Clerk  Saunders  and  May  Margaret Anon.  367 

Come,  all  you  brave  gallants,  and  listen  awhile Anon.  298 

Come,  be  my  valentine Andrewes  49 

Come,  Celia,  let's  agree  at  last Bttckinghamshire  562 

•Come,  come;  away !  the  Spring R.    Brome  13 

Come,  come,  tliou  glorious  object  of  my  sight Killegrew  43 

Come,  come!  what  do  I  here? Vaughan  208 

Come,  faith,  since  I'm  parting,  and  that  God  knows  when F.  Cary  154 

Come  listen  to  me,  you  gallants  so  free Anon.  275 

Come,  little  infant,  love  me  now Marvell  32 

Come,  sweet  lass D'Urfey  449 

Contented  I   am,   and  contented   I'll   be Stevens  745 

Countrymen  of  England,  who  live  at  home  with  ease Parker  132 

Cromwell,  our  cheif  of  men,  who  through  a  cloud Milton  108 

Cyriack,  whose  Grandsu-e  on  the   Royal  Bench Milton  120 

Daughter  to  that  good  Earl,  once  President Milton  119 

Dear  Chloe,  now  blubbered  is  that  pretty  face Prior  651 

Dear,  from  thine  arms  then  let  me  tly Rochester  546 

Disarm'd  with  so  genteel  an  air W inchilsea  642 

Distracted  with  care Walsh  558 

Do  not  conceal  thy  radiant  eyes Kynaslon  66 

Dorinda's  sparkling  wit  and  eyes Dorset  520 

Down  in  yon  garden  sweet  and  gay A non.  43 2 

Draw    near Stanley  75 

Enough;  and  leave  the  rest  to  fame Marvell  240 

Evil,    if    rightly    understood Byrom  773 

Excellent  Brutus,  of  all  human  race Cowley  113 

Exert  thy  voice,  sweet  harbinger  of  Spring Winchilsea  618 

Fair  Amoret  is  gone  astray Congreve  63  7 

Fair  Isabel,  if  ought  but  thee Cotton  514 

Fair,  sweet  and  young,  receive  a  prize Dryden  543 

Fair  tree,  for  thy  delightful  shade Winchilsea  619 

Fairest  isle,  all  isles  excelling Dryden  533 

False  though  she  be  to  me  and  love Congreve  654 

Far  in  a  wild,  unknown  to  public  view Parnell  753 

Farewell !  Xay,  prithee  turn  again Hall  494 

Farewell,  too  little  and  too  lately  known Dryden  594 

Farewell,  ungrateful  traitor Dryden  555 

Father  of  all!  in  every  age Pope  778 

Fill  the  bowl  with  rosy  wine Cowley  152 

First  born  of  chaos,  who  so  fair  didst  come Cowley  3 

Flavia  the  least  and  slighted  toy Milton  5 1 9 

Fly  envious  Time,  till  thou  run  out  thy  race Milton  180 

Foolish  prater,  what  dost  thou Cowley  .      9 

Forbear,  bold  youth;  all's  heaven  here _, .  .Philips  537 

Friendship,  like  love,  is  but  a  name Gay  691 

From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony Dryden  466 

Give  me  leave  to  rail  at  you Rochester  561 

Go  empty  joys Anon.  159 


858 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


PAGE 

Go,  fickle  man,  and  teach  the  moon  to  change Hammond  72 

Go,  little  book  and  to  the  world  impart Walsh  603 

God   bless  the   King!  1   meun  the   Faith's  IJefender Byrom  723 

Good  madam,  when  ladies  are  willing Montagu  638 

Great  Monarch  of  the  world,  from  whose  power  springs ....  King  Charles  I.  62 1 

Greedy  lover,  pause  awhile 61 

Had  we  but  world  enough,  and  time Marvell  40 

Hail,  thou  most  sacred  venerable  thing! Norris  589 

Happy   and   free,    securely   blest Dryden  530 

Happy  the  man  whose  wish  and  care Pope  752 

Happy  those  early  days,  when  1 Vaughan  181 

Hark!  how  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  comes Shadwell  573 

He  or  she  that  hopes  to  gain Anon.  503 

He  that  is  down  needs  fear  no  fall Bunyan  186 

He  whom  Pleaven  did  call  away Anon.  247 

Hear,  ye  sullen  powers  belov.- Dryden  464 

Hears  not  my  Phillis  how  the  birds Scdlcy  513 

Heaven,  what  an  age  is  this!  what  race Cotton  480 

Heavenly    fair    Urania's    son Shcppard  86 

Hence     loathed     Melancholy Milton  163 

Hence   vain   deluding   joys Milton  168 

Here  lies  a  piece  of  Clu-ist;  a  star  in  dust Wilde  25 1 

Here  lies  our  sovereign  Lord  the  King Rochester  593 

Hie    upon    Hielands Anon.  353 

Hope  of  all  ills  that  men  endure Cowley  93 

How  gaily  is  at  first  begun Winchilsea  794 

How   happy    the    lover Dryden  535 

How  hardly  I  concealed  my  tears Wharton  549 

How  long  great  God,  how  long  must  I Norris  584 

How  prodigious  is  my  fate Philips  554 

How    Providence  ?  and    yet   a    Scottish   crew Cliveland  128 

How  soon  hath  Time  the  suttle  thief  of  youth Millon  98 

How  to  thy  sacred  memory  shall  I  bring B,hn  595 

How  vainly  men  themselves  amaze Mar-jcll  14 

How  wisely  Nature  did  decree I  Marvell  90 

Hush!  my   dear,   lie   still   and   slumber Watts  776 

lam  content,   I  do  not   care Byrom  750 

I  am,   cried  Apollo,   when   Daphne   he  woo'd Tickcll  650 

I    cannot    change    as    others    do   Rochester  565 

I  cannot  reach  it;  and  my  striving  eye Vaughan  87 

I  did  but  look  and  love  awhile Ot-ivay  504 

I  did  not  live  until  this  time Philips  450 

I  feed  a  (lame  within,  which  so  torments  me Dryden  542 

I  go  dear  Saint,  away Stanley  76 

1  hate  the  man  who  builds  his  name Cay  626 

I  have  examined  and  do  find Philips  45 1 

I  know  a  thing  that's  most  uncommon Pope  640 

I  love!  but  she  alone  shall  know Motteux  624 

I  must  confess  lam  untrue Buckinghamshire  5  63 

I,  niy  dear,  was  born  to-day Prior  680 

I  said  to  my  heart,  between  sleeping  and  waking Peterborough  511 

I  saw  a  vision  yesternight Cleveland  78 

I  saw  Eternity  the  other  night Vaughan  187 

I  smile  at  Love  and  all  its  arts Vanbrugh  630 

I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies .4non.  429 

I  walk'd  the  other  day,  to  spend  my  hour Vaughan  215 


859 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


If,  dumb  too  long,  the  drooping  Muse  hath  stay'd Tickell 

If   from    the   lustre   of   the   sun Piillison 

If  I  live  to  be  old,  'fore  I  tind  1  go  down W.  Pope 

If  she  be  not  as  kind  as  fair •. : ElJun-ge 

If  we  no  old  historian's  name Philips 

If  wine  and  music  have  the  power Prior 

In   all   humanity,   we   crave Rochester 

In  London  stands  a  famous  pile Ward 

In  Scotland  there  was  a  babie  born Anon. 

In  somer  when  the  shawes  be  sheyne Ano:i. 

In  such  a  night,  when  every  louder  wind Winch-ilsea 

In  these  deep  solitudes  and  awful  cells Pope 

In  this  marble  buried  lies Anon. 

In  this  marble  casket  lies Anon. 

In    vain,    Clemene,    you    bestow Dorset 

In  vain,  poor  nymph,  to  please  our  youthful  sight Parncll 

In   vain   you   tell    your    parting   lover Prior 

Ireland  is  now  our  care Swift 

It  fell  about  the  Lammas  tide Anon. 

It  befell  at  Martynmas Anon. 

It  fell  on  a  day,  and  a  bonny  summer  day Anon. 

It  is  not,  Celia,  in  our  power Ethcrege 

It's  narrow,  narrow,  make  your  bed .Anon. 

It  was  a  dismal,  and  a  fearful  night Couicy 

It  was  in  and  about  the  Martinmas Anon. 

Jocky  was  a   dowdy  lad D'Urfcy 

Join   once   again,    my   Celia,    join Cotton 

Kind  companion  of  my  youth Mclcotnbc 

Kitty's  charming  voice  and  face A  non. 

Kneiler,  with  silence  and  surprise Addison 

Ladies,  farewell,  I  must  retire. . _. Howard 

Ladies,  though  to  your  conquering  eyes Ethcrcge 

Lady  on  your  eyes  I  ga/.cd .'I  non. 

Lady  that  in  the  prime  of  earliest  youth Milton 

Late  at  e'en,  drinkin'  the  wine Anon. 

Lawrence    of   vertuous    Father,    vertuous    Son Milton 

Leave  Chloris,  leave,  prithee  no  more Sherburne 

Life  is  a  jest,  and  all  things  show  it Gay 

Like  a  top  which  runneth  'round Bralhwaite 

Long  hast  thou,  friend,  been  absent  from  thy  soil Gay 

Look,  how  he  shakes  for  cold! P.  Gary 

I,ook   Nymphs,    and   Shepherds,   look Milton 

Lords,   knights,   and  squires,   the  numberous  band Prior 

Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet A  non. 

Lord,  when  the  wise  men  came  from  far Godolphin 

Love  in  fantastic  triumph  sate Bchn 

Love    in    thy    youth,    fair    maid;  be    wise Porter 

Love!  in  what  poison  is  thy  dart! Denham 

Love   still   has  something  of  the  sea Scdlcy 

Love  thee !  good  sooth,  not  I ! Hughes 

Lovely    lasting    peace    of    mind Parncll 

Luxurious  man,  to  bring  his  vice  in  use Marvdl 

Margarita   first    possest Cowley       55 

Marie  Hamilton's  to  the  kirk  gane Anon.     394 


86o 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


PAGE 

May  the  ambitious  ever  find Dorset  535 

Methought  I  saw  my  late  espoused  Saint Millon  225 

More  love  or  more  disdain  1   crave Wcbbe  538 

Morpheus,  the  liumble  god,  that  dwells Denhani  223 

My  body  being  dead,   my  limbs  unknown Traherne  585 

My    cabinets    are    oyster-shells Newcastle  133 

My  days  have  been  so  wondrous  free Parncll  623 

My  dear  Mistress  has  a  heart Rochester  510 

My  life  is  measured  by  this  glass,  this  glass Hall  455 

My  love  is  of  a  birth  as  rare Marvell  29 

My  mind  was  once  the  true  survey Marvell  53 

My    noble,    lovely,    little    Peggy Prior  622 

My  soul,  there  is  a  country.. ._ Vaughan  219 

My  time,  O  ye  Muses!  was  happily  spent Byrom  67  7 

Muse!  Rise,  and  plume  thy  feet,  and  let's  converse Bcttlowes  174 

Nature's   confectioner,    the   bee Cleveland  58 

News  from  a  foreign  country  came Trailer iie  582 

No    more    unto    my    thoughts    appear Godolphin  45 

No,  no,  poor  suffering  heart,  no  change  endeavour Dryden  562 

Nor  Love  nor   Fate  dare  I  accuse R.  Brome  74 

Not  Celia,  that  I   juster  am Sedlcy  516 

Not  to  the  hills  where  cedars  move Flalman  5  74 

Nothing !  thou  elder  brother  even   to   shade Rochester  435 

Now   hardly   here   and   there   a   hackney   coach Swift  607 

Now  the  bright  morning  Star,  Daves  harbinger Millon  3 

Nymphs  and  Shepherds  dance  no  more Milton  12 

O  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray Anon.  428 

O  have  ye  na  heard  o'  the  fause  Sakelde  ? A non.  335 

O  I  forbid  you,  maidens  a' Anofi.  410 

O  Johney  was  as  brave  a  knight A  non.  357 

O  joyous!  infmite  sweetness!  with  what  flowers.  . .  .^ Vaughan  209 

O  Love:  that  stronger  art  than  wine!  Behn  503 

O  Nightingale,  that  on  yon  bloomy  spray Milton  23 

O  ruddier  than  the  cherry ! Gay  629 

O  say  what  is  that  thing  called  Light Cibber  6 1 7 

O    the    sad    day Flalman  591 

O  Thy  bright  looks!  Thy  glance  of  love Vaughan  204 

O   turn   away    those   cruel   ejes Stanley  7 1 

O  well's  me,  o'  my  gay  goss-hawk Anon.  434 

O  wha  will  shoe  my  fu'  fair  foot? Anon.  373 

O  where  hae  ye  been  a'  day.  Lord  Donald,  my  son ? Anon.  398 

O  where  have  you  been,  my  long,  long  love Anon.  422 

Of  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart H.  Carey  632 

Of  all  the  torments,  all  the  cares Walsh  557 

Of  Leinster,  famed  for  maidens  fair Tickell  658 

Of  Marlborough's  captains,  and  Eugenio's  friends Tickell  785 

Oh  did  ye  ever  hear  o'  brave  Earl  Bran' ? Anon.  354 

Oh !  what  a  plague  is  love ! Anon.  538 

Old  Chaucer,  like  the  morning  star Denham  244 

Old  Father  Ocean  calls  my  tide Dryden  465 

Only   tell  her  that  1   love Cutts  63 1 

O'er   t"ie   smooth   enameld   green Milton  11 

Our   pains   are  real   things,   and  all Butler  179 

Over  the  mountains Anon.  492 


86 1 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


PAOF. 

Peace!  peace!  it  is  not  so.     Thou  dost  miscall Vaughan  783 

Persuade  me  not,  there  is  a  grace Wincbihea  645 

Phillis,  for  shame,   let  us  improve Dorset  5 1 7 

Phillis    is    my   only    joy Sedley  b42 

Phillis,  men  say  that  all  my  vows Sedley  5 18 

Philosophy,  the  great  and  only  heir Couiey  99 

Pious  Selinda  goes   to   prayers Congreve  636 

Poet  and  Saint !  to  thee  alone  are  given Cowley  233 

Poets,  your  subjects  have  their  parts  assigned Dryden  5  76 

Poor    little,    pretty,    fluttering    thing Prior  780 

Poor  River,  now  thou'rt  almost   dry Winchilsea  765 

Prithee,  Chloe,  not  so  fast Oldmixon  648 

Queen    of    fragrance,    lovely    Rose Broome  625 

Queen  Mab  and  all  her  fairy  fry Newcastle  19 

Romira,     stay Hall  497 

Roses,  in  breathing  forth  their  scent Stanley  47 

Sabrina    fair Milton  137 

Sad,  purple  well!  whose  bubbling  eye Vaughan  127 

See,   how   the   orient  dew Marvell  8 

See,    O    see! Bristol  89 

See,  see,  she  wakes,  Sabina  wakes! Congreve  627 

See,  whilst  thou  weep'st,  fair  Chloe,  see Prior  654 

See    with    what    simplicity Marvell  IS 

See'st  not,  my  love,  with  what  a  grace Bosworth  42 

Seynt  Stevene  was  a  clerk  in  Kyng  Herowdes  halle Anon.  443 

She  on  this  clayen  pillow  layed  her  head Anon.  250 

She  sat  down  below  a  thorn Anon.  421 

She,  that  I  pursue,  still  flies  me Cotton  561 

Shut,  shut  the  door,  good  John!  fatigu'd,  I  said Pope  7  10 

Since,  dearest  Harry,  you  will  needs  request Addison  696 

Since,    'tis   my    doom.    Love's   undershrievc Cleveland  62 

Sing  aloud!  His  praise  rehearse More  189 

Sir  Charles  into  my  chamber  ceding  in Newcastle  150 

Skin  more  pure  than  Ida 's  snow Brathwaite  45 

Sleep,  ye  great  manes  of  the  dead Tale  5  92 

Some   thirty   or   forty  or   fifty  at   least D'Urfey  527 

Spare,    generous    vit  tor,    spare    the    slave Prior  652 

Still  young  and  fine !  but  what  is  still  in  view Vaughan  92 

Stranger,  whoe'er  thou  art,  that  stoop'st  to  taste Sherburne  22 

Sure   Ckloe   just,   and   Chloe  fair Prior  647 

Sure,  it  was  so.     Man  in  those  early  days   Vaughan  182 

Sure  Man  was  born  to  meditate  on  things Trahcrne  457 

Sweet  Echo,  sweetest  Nymph  that  liv'st  unseen Milton  136 

Sweet   stream,    that   dost   with   ecjual   pace Sprat  593 

Sweetest  Bud  of  Beauty !  may Elherege  487 

Take  Time,  my  dear,  ere  Time  takes  wing Anon.  553 

Tell  me  not  of  a  face  that's  fair. A.  Brome  69 

Tell  me,  O  tcH,  what  kind  of  a  thing  is  wit ■. Cowley  i05 

Tell  me,  Thyrsis,  tell  your  anguish Dryden  545 

The  bcam-repcUing  mists  arise Parnell  769 

The  day  is  set  did  earth  adorn Cotton  57  1 

The  forward   youth   that   would  appear Marvell  108 

The   grove  was  gloomy  all  around Behn  "^47 

The  happiest  mortals  once  were  we Lansdowne  550 

The  King  sits  in  Dunfermline  town Anon.  3  15 

862 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


PAGE 

The  Kynge  came  to  Notynghame Anon.  265 

The  line  of  Vere,  so  long  renowned  in  arms Halifax  646 

The  merchant  to  secure  his  treasure Prior  63  1 

The  night  is  tome,  like  to  the  day Browne  2 1 9 

The  Perae  out  of  Northumberland Anon.  324 

The  spacious    firmament  on  high Addison  775 

The  Star  that  bids  the  Shepherd  fold Milton  134 

The  thirsty  earth  soaks  up  the  rain Couley  15 1 

The  wanton  troopers  riding  by Marvell  24 

There  are  twelve  months  in  all  the  year Anon.  279 

There  lived  a  wife  at  Usher's  Well Anon.  419 

There's  no  dallying   with   love Sherburne  36 

There  was  a  maid  came  out  of  Kent Anon.  434 

There  was  a  youth,  and  a  well  beloved  youth Anon.  44 1 

There  were  three  ravens  sat  on  a  tree Anon.  425 

There  were  twa  sisters  in  a  bowr Anon.  365 

Theristes  of  amphibious  breed Tickell  139 

These  little  limbs Traherne  447 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  Light! Vaughan  223 

This  ae  nighte,  this  ae  nighte Anon.  427 

This  day,  whate'er  the  Fates  decree Swifl  683 

This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn Millon  191 

This  only  grant  me,  that  my  means  may  lie Cowley  95 

Those  arts  which  common  beauties  move Oldmixon  644 

Thou  fool !  if  madness  be  so  rife Cotton  564 

Thou  gav'st  me  late  to  eat Sherburne  7  2 

Thou  that  by  ruin  dost  repair Cleveland  124 

Thou  youngest  virgin-daughter  of  the  skies Drydcn  596 

Though  actors  cannot  much  of  learning  boast Drydcn  578 

Though  I  never  got  ix)ssession    .  , Montagu  640 

Though  when  I  loved  thee  thou  wert  fair Stanley  73 

Though  you  be  absent  here,  I  needs  must  say Cowley  33 

Thoughts!  what   are    they? Flatman  580 

Three  poets,  in  three  distant  ages  born Dryden  574 

Through  that  pure  virgin  shrine Vaughan  220 

Thus   Kitty,   beautiful   and   young Prior  649 

'Tis  a  child  of  phansies  getting Heath  28 

'Tis  certain,   that  the   modish   passions Gay  689 

'Tis  true  I  never  was  in  love A.  Brome  5 1 

'Tis   wine  that  inspires ,0  rrery  1 53 

To  all  you  ladies  now  at  hand Dorset  5  24 

To  make  a  final  conquest  of  all  me Marvell  39 

To   the   ocean   now    I    fly Milton  139 

Triumphant  Queen  of  scorn!  how  ill  doth  sit Philips  556 

True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank Anon.  407 

'Twas  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  won   Dryden  468 

'Twas  when  the  seas  were  roaring Gay  660 

Under  this  stone  does  lie Buckingham  24 1 

Underneath  this  myrtle  shade' Cowley  152 

Vain  world,   what  is  in  thee  ? Baxter  25 1 

Vast  bodies  of  philosophy Cowley  120 

Venus,  take  my  votive  glass Prior  645 

Vital  spark  of  heav'niy  flame ! Pope  78 1 

Vulcan,   contrive  me  such  a  cup Rochester  570 

We  must  not  part,  as  others  do • Anon.  35 


863 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Weighing  the  steadfastness  and  state Vaughan  178 

Well   then;  I   now   do   plainly   see Cowley  96 

Well;   'tis   as    liickcrstaff   has    guessed Swift  741 

What  a  dull  fool  was  I Buckingham  48 

Wnat  betkoning  ghost,  along  the  moonlight  shade Pope  790 

Wluit  Greece,   when   learning   flourished,  only  knew Drydcn  575 

What  has  this  bugbear  Death,  that's  worth  our  care? Walsh  590 

What  makes  me  so  unnimbly  rise Townsend  68 

What  needs  my  Shakespear  for  his  honour'd  bones Milton  116 

What   nymph    should    1    admire    or   trust Prior  647 

What  wonder's  this,   that   there   should  spring Washbourne  213 

When  at  the  lirst  I  took  ray  pen  in  hand Bunyan  143 

When  ■raptaines  courageous,  whom  death  could  not  daunte Anon.  350 

When  Coelia,  must  my  old  day  set .  .  , Cotton  521 

M  hen   cruel   fair   one,    I   am   slain Stanley  77 

When  first   Eternity    stoop'd  down   to  nought Traherne  475 

When  for  the  thorns  with  which  I  long,  too  long Marvell  207 

When  I  a  lover  pale  do  see Anon.  524 

When  1  began  my  love  to  sow Hammond  38 

When  I  beheld  the   poet  blind,  yet  bold Marvell  117 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  sjient Milton  185 

When  money   and    my   blood  ran  high Stepney  749 

When  on  mine  eyes  her  eyes  first  shone Wilson  66 

When  on  those  lovely  looks  I  gaze Rochester  550 

When  on  thy  lips  my  soul  I  breathe Stanley  52 

M'hen  Robin  Hood  and  Little  John Anon.  312 

When  Robin  Hood  was  about  twenty  years  old Anon.  259 

When  shawes  beene  sheene,  ard  shradds  full  fayre Anon.  302 

When    slaves    their    liberty    require! Walsh  547 

When  the  fierce  North-vind  with  his  airy  forces Wails  782 

When    thy  beauty  appears Parnell  628 

Where  the  remote   Bermudas  ride Marvell  217 

Whilst  I  beheld  the  neck  o'  th'  dove P.  Cary  205 

Whither,   O   whither    didst   thou   fly ._ Vaughan  204 

While  with  labour   assid'ous  due  pleasure  1  mix Prior  688 

While  you,  my  Lord,   bid  stately  piles  ascend Gay  597 

With  hairs,  which  for   the  wind  to  play  with,  hung Ayres  521 

With  horns  and  hounds  I  waken  the  day Dryden  460 

With  my  frailty,   don't  upbraid  me Congreve  64 1 

Winds,   whisper   gently,   whilst  she  sleeps Cotton  520 

Who    would    true    valour    see Bunyan  185 

Whoe'er   a   lover   is   of   art Ayres  489 

Why,    cruel    creature,    why    so   bent Lansdoutie  548 

Why,  dearest,  shouldst  thou  weep,  when  I  relate Cotton  531 

Whv  does  your  brand  sae  drop  wi'  blude Anon.  400 

Why  dost  thou   shade   thy  lovely  face?  O   why Rochester  506 

Why,  lovely  charmer,  tell  me,  why Steele  639 

Woman!  thoughtless,  giddy  creature Baker  642 

Ye   happy   swains   whose    hearts   are   free Etherege  554 

Ye    living    lamps,    by    whose    dear    light Marvell  50 

Ye  sacred  limbs Traherne  477 

Yet  once  more,  O  ye  Laurels,  and  once  more Milton  227 

You  charmed  me  not  with  that  fair  face. Dryden  544 

You  pleasing  dreams  of  love  and  sweet  delight Dryden  498 

You  twice  ten  hundred  deities Dryden  462 

Your  hay  it  is  mowed,  and  your  corn  is  reaped Dryden  46 1 

Your  smiles  are  not,  as  other  women's  be Townscr.d  39 


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The  Prodigal  Nephew.     By  Bertram  Atkey. 

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